


Songs of Suffering

by Raysine



Series: Songs of Suffering [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Creep William Afton | Dave Miller, Did I mention triggers?, F/M, Five Nights at Freddy's 1, Five Nights at Freddy's 2, Five Nights at Freddy's 3, Heavy Angst, Mild Smut, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, My First Smut, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Possessed Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy Kink, Scott Cawthon and Phone Guy are not the same person, Stockholm Syndrome, This is gonna be a rollercoaster, Triggers, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vent Fic kind of, William Afton - Freeform, William Afton and Dave Miller and Purple Guy are the Same Person, William Afton | Dave Miller being a Jerk, ghost children, kind of, more tags to come, phone guy is named scott, the animatronics are children ya'll, this makes me feel icky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raysine/pseuds/Raysine
Summary: [under editing]How I loved the song of suffering she sang; how she took pained gasps for air as if I were actually strangling her. The agonized look upon her face almost made it all worth it.--“What the matter, Love? Lost for words?” She could hear him cackling above her, like a mad man depraved. He sounded jovial, almost as if he were enjoying this, watching her struggle for breath as his fingers tightened over her throat. “Come now, say it! “I. Love. You”!”
Relationships: OC/OC, Phone Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Original Female Character(s), William Afton | Dave Miller/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Songs of Suffering [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938346
Comments: 34
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be triggering story events. That includes kidnapping, suicide, attempted suicide, successful and attempted murder, rape, grooming, etc.… not necessarily in that order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW and CW: rape(semi-explicit/semi-implicit?) and general creepiness. Please do not continue if you are easily triggered.

_"_ _No, no, please—"_

_A large man hovered over her, darkened by shadow. She couldn't see his face, but she knew who it was._

_She shouldn't have listened to him. She should have sneaked back to her room while he was still sleeping, and she wouldn't be in this mess._

_Big hands groped her body, hugging and pinching any ounce of fat he could get his hands on._

_It hurt. Why was this happening to her?_

_"Daddy, please, it hurts! I don't want anymore—" Her tiny hands scratched at her arms, ripping and tearing at his skin; how else was she supposed to fight him?_

_"Be quiet and be a good girl for daddy," he said, and his hands latched onto her throat, squeezing and sucking the air right from her chest. "_ _If you stop fighting, I promise to make it hurt less.”_

_What else was she to do?_

_"This is all for you." He pressed his lips to her cheek, catching wet tears against chapped lips. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. I have an even bigger surprise for you later."_

_It was then she had decided. She didn't want any part of it._

~1987~

Another nightmare.

She’s been having them more often, recently. She hated the now constant reminder of her terrible childhood when all she wanted to do was forget about it.

Forget about her parents, her family. She just wanted to move on from it all.

But the nightmares never let her.

As she stared at the popcorn ceiling over her bed, Gemma’s heart was overtaken by dread, sinking deep into the pit of her stomach. It was her birthday—March 20th—her eighteenth.

Gemma never enjoyed her birthday. In fact, she hated her birthday.

Ten years ago, her eighth birthday would always be etched into her heart and her mind, whether she wanted to forget or not. How could she forget? Her birthdays served as a grim reminder of what a piece of shit her father was.

And no one else knew, except her and her mother.

Gemma closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She was tired… her body was tired, and her spirit was tired. If she really wanted to, she could end the constant suffering. She was rarely happy anymore—and genuinely happy—but “fake it till you make it”, right?

She wished to remember the good days. The days of her life before her parents separated; before everything suddenly went downhill.

What would she do it with, though? No access to a gun, the obvious easy way out. She didn’t have any rope, or anything strong enough to hold her.

_Maybe if you weren’t so fat…_

She had kitchen knives, but that would be awfully painful. She’s had her fair share of pain, and it wasn’t quite the way she wanted to go out.

A big paw landed across her abdomen. Gemma glanced over to find Kujo sitting next to her, with the biggest puppy eyes she’d ever seen on any dog before. It was pitiful, really, the way he pawed at her stomach for her attention, and warmth spread across her body.

If she was gone, who would be here to take care of Kujo?

She had to stay, if not for herself then for him, at least.

“As you would say,” Gemma said; she outstretched her hand and reached for the ceiling, as if she could feel him up there, watching over her. “Today is another day. I miss you.”

That phrase really did keep her going, on most days. She had to remember that this was just a rough patch. Her life wasn’t the greatest up to this point, but it would get better. She would be going to college soon. It would be expensive, but it would be all worth it to help other kids… kids in her situation.

Because as a kid, she wished she had someone to help her—really help her.

Today was a Friday, the last day of the week. Weekdays, she was never home early enough to get any studying done; she was at school by 6PM, at work by 3PM, and home by 11:30PM.

Weekends wasn’t too different—at work by 11AM and back by 11:30PM.

Today was just the last day of the week. In two weeks, it would be finals week, and she would finally be out.

She barely saved enough money for college, but… at least she had saved any money at all.

Just a few more months… a few more months and she will be living in Salt Lake City and going to college She always wanted to see the city.

Just a few more months… just a little longer.

 _Today is another day_.

. . .

Friday afternoons were the busiest times of her day.

She could hear the singing of the animatronics on stage—the laughs and cheers of children from the main party room just outside the door of the break room. She loved kids, and she loved hearing them laugh even more, but it was always this time that she wished she had something to muffle it with.

She needed to get her math homework done, and she had an hour between now and the start of her shift. An hour wasn’t nearly enough for her. She was bad at math, but at least it was something.

The breakroom was usually quiet, though—a small, dirty room with a single, round table and about 5 metal fold-out chairs, with the same white and black tile flooring, the same grey walls with the same green and black checkered stripe running around 3 feet off the floor. There were grey lockers for employees to keep personal belongings and a door that led straight into the backstage area. It was also where they kept an emergency generator.

Gemma sat on one of the metal chairs, back hunched and leaned over the table with a pencil in one hand, and the other brushing her hair fell over her shoulder and curtained over her face. The notebook on the table was brimming with papers—papers with questions she didn’t understand.

“How did school go?” Her co-worker, Marcus, a young man with tanned skin and long, dark hair—he often kept it tied up into a bun or ponytail—sat on the other side of the table, with a plat of half-eaten pizza in his hand as he leaned back into the chair.

“Well, my other classes are almost nonexistent now that finals are in two weeks,” Gemma answered, “Except for my math class. Mrs. Horton decided to increase the workload.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Horton has always been kind of a bitch,” Marcus said, “I did well in her class, though. Want me to help you out? I’m on my break, anyway.”

“Really?” If she had known Marcus was any good at math, she would have asked him for his help sooner.

“Yeah man. Here, what are you working on?” Marcus got up from his chair to walk around the table. He peered down at once of the three papers spread out on the desk. “Ah shit, yeah. Pencil?”

Marcus opened his hand and as Gemma reached over to give him the little #2 pencil, the door to the breakroom opened. Sarah—her friend and Marcus’s girlfriend—stood in the doorway, her long, blonde hair shoved into a messy bun. “Marcus, we need you in the kitchen. Breaks up—oh, hey Gemma! Happy birthday, by the way.”

Gemma cringed. “Yeah, thanks.”

The door closed again, leaving Gemma and Marcus alone once again and he sighed. “Sorry kiddo, maybe I can help you later.” He wrapped a dirty apron around his body and was out the door in a flash, leaving her alone in the break room.

And broken hopes. She was never going to get this done at this rate.

“Quite the load, hm?” A voice spoke behind her; a voice she’s gotten used to in the year she’s worked here. It was a voice that was deep and pleasant to the ears, with a slight twinge of British that was easy to miss if one weren’t listening. The way he spoke sounded drawn out, lazy and tired, yet at the same time, made him sound well-educated and refined. Perhaps it was the British—they had a way of speaking that came off as more polished. 

William Afton. Coworker and security guard. He was an older man; old enough to be her father, if not a couple of years younger were her father still alive. William certainly reminded her of him, what with his charm, his charisma; he was suave. Yet, there was just something she couldn’t place.

Regardless, he was also a handsome man with a chiseled jaw, defined cheekbones, and messy black hair, streaked with grey from age—sometimes she would find it all black again, as he dyed it often—sleek and slicked back, and even a little greasy looking from whatever product he used on his hair, and just short of his collar on his uniform—a lavender dress shirt and black slacks, accompanied by a black belt and tie, and a golden Freddy Fazbear’s pin stuck to the left side of his chest, just below the collar.

However, most catching were his blue eyes; glazed over like glass, cold and detached, and hooded with dark bags underneath. Yet, there was a sort of charm to him; the way he held himself and the way he spoke—although his voice was naturally lazy and drawn out—with power and confidence.

And yet, in spite of the pleasantness—in spite of its especially soothing nature—it also had a way of making every hair on her body stand on end like a cornered cat. It wasn’t that she hated him. She couldn’t. She had no reason to, not really.

“Uh—” She always got nervous around him; so nervous her words caught in her throat and her mouth felt like cotton. “Y-yeah. Uhm, next week is finals week and… my teacher, uhm… she decided to increase the workload before our final one Tuesday.” For a moment, she considered just throwing the papers in the trash. She would pass regardless, but she wanted—needed—to do her best. “Fuck you Mrs. Horton, I can graduate without it, right?” Gemma laughed, or at least tried to. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but William seemed to pay it no mind.

Perhaps, she was much more like a bunny—docile and passive and less likely to fight back, less likely to become aggressive like a cat. Easily frightened and vulnerable.

And William noticed every little thing she did. From the way her body froze when he was near, her sudden increase in breath—he noticed the way her heart raced when he so much as put a hand on her back or her shoulder.

He approached her slowly and Gemma could feel him looming over her. Every cell in her body wanted her to get away from him yet she was stuck to her chair, unable to move. The tension felt thick, and still as a board, she sat there, wondering what he would do—

“Well, that’s no good, but you’re in luck.” His hands touched her shoulders and her body reacted like there was a gun to her head. Her body froze and she wanted to run—to put as much distance between her and William as possible.

It was just her anxiety. It wasn’t William’s fault.

But she didn’t want to cause a scene.

“I happened to be the top in my graduating class, and we have an hour to kill. How about you let me help you?”

She wanted to tell him no, that she didn’t need his help; she remained silent, her lips pressed tightly and all she had to do was open her mouth—

But he took the initiative. He pulled a chair next to her and took the pencil from her hand to begin working out the problems with her. Despite the uncomfortable situation, she felt obligated to listen and listen she did—his explanations were short, but clear enough for even someone like her to understand. She caught on quick, and if she got stuck, he was there to push her in the right direction.

In all honesty, it was possibly the best interaction she’s ever had with him. Maybe he wasn’t that bad and she just had the wrong understanding of him.

“Thanks, for… helping me.” She glanced over her papers one last time before she put them away again, stuffing them into the pages of her notebook. “I uhm… hate to ask, but…” Gemma was rarely the one to start up conversation with him, but she was curious to know. “You said you were the top of your class… why are you working at a place like this?”

William laughed—believable, yet empty sounding. “Same reason as everyone else, Love,” he said simply; he put his hands on her shoulders again, down her arms and back up again; Gemma shivered. “I have ties to this place. And you’re probably here because of your childhood, aren’t you?”

Something like that, she supposed, but it wasn’t a hard guess. However, she had grown quite attached to Fredbear’s. It was a safe haven.

“That’s the beauty of it. Once you’re here, you never really leave.”

“Uh, yeah, I should—” Those words were enough for her fight or flight reactions to kick in; in this case, it was flight. “I should probably clock in and… get to work now.” Gemma stood quickly, her notebook under her arm and her bag in her other hand, and she made her way towards the locks in such a way to avoid looking his way. “But th-thanks for the help.”

She opened the little locker—the one just above Sarah’s—and shoved her things inside, just big enough to fit her belongings.

“Just a moment, Love. It’s not 4PM just yet.” His hands were on her again; he spun her around to face him, and she backed against the lockers only for him to close in on her. There was a significant height different, Gemma having to tilt her head to look up at him. He kept his hands on her hips; her heart leapt in her chest as he leaned down. “A little birdie informed me it’s your eighteenth birthday.”

Ah yes, Sarah. Of course, Sarah would because Sarah was nosy and liked to talk and gossip. It wasn’t her fault, though. Gemma did not doubt that Sarah would keep her mouth shut if she knew Gemma’s circumstances. Gemma never told anyone, though, and she wouldn’t start now.

“We have got a wonderful surprise for you at the end of the day, my dear.” The pet name rolled off of his tongue, thick and sweet like honey, but she couldn’t help but think there was something hidden underneath.

And she really, _really_ did not want to find out.

“That’s nice,” she said, and she tried her best to smile—tried her best to sound happy and grateful someone cared enough, to forget the unpleasantness of his hands on her and the smell of his breath, and how inappropriately close he was. “But really—I really should be getting to work now—”

“I’m not finished yet.” William spoke firmly—a father reprimanding his child for misbehaving, and she felt herself shrink back.

His hand came up between them, his thumb pressing against her plush, quivering bottom lip and he watched her intently, watching for her reaction.

“I got you a few gifts I think you will love. I can’t take all the credit, of course. Your friend is quite mouthy, that one. She tells me… everything I need to know.”

She gulped as he bowed his head, coming closer.

“In fact, I’d like to give one to you now.” He swooped in, and Gemma moved just before he could kiss her—his hand on her hip twitched.

William has… always tried to make advances, although much more subtle.

One again, her birthday cursed her.

“Uh… s…save it for tonight!” Any excuse to get out of here. “I’m going to head to the prize corner now.” She stepped away—one step closer to the door.

Her shift didn’t start for another twenty minutes, but anything to put distance between them.

William caught her by the bicep and pulled her in closer; he pressed into her backside, and his index finger traced along the underside of her jaw. “Just… one more thing.” He caught her chin, pulling her head to the side as he bowed his head low, until she could feel his hot breath against her ear. “That dress is rather form-fitting on you, Love. Wouldn’t want to attract unwanted attention, would we?”

The dress in question was her uniform—a pastel yellow dress with a white, pointed flat collar and short sleeves, just showing a hint of white beneath. The dress wasn’t short by any means, just short of her knees. It was form-fitting, but before, she thought it fit fine.

“Perhaps it would do you some good to lose a little bit of weight. No one is going to find even a pretty girl like you attractive with that pouch showing.”

Her face grew hot with embarrassment. Why would he mention something like that? It wasn’t like it was her fault.

Of course, she only ate out, or at school. She didn’t have much of a choice. It wasn’t like she had the time to cook for herself.

At this point, she didn’t want to bother. She just wanted to go home and hide under her covers with Kujo to comfort her as she cried out the shame, the embarrassment, and the hit to her self-confidence.

With tears in her eyes, she ripped her arm out from his hand without so much as another word to him, and even when she closed the door, she could still hear his laughter.

. . . 

The Puppet was… quite strange.

It was a bit scary, especially at a hulking 7’5”, towering over even Marcus who was well over 6 foot. She loved it as a kid but now that she had to work beside it, the way its silver eyes watched her, she thought was a bit… unnerving, even after a good year after working here.

Or was it even watching her at all? Was it anxiety or was she going crazy? After all, it wasn't alive or sentient, and she didn't believe in things like spirits. 

Regardless, the Prize Corner was more Gemma’s speed. Seeing the happy faces of children as they received their prize made it all worth it. It especially helped to make her feel a little better, after what William said.

Behind the counter, she tugged at her dress just below the breast.

_“That dress is rather form-fitting on you, Love. Wouldn’t want to attract unwanted attention, would we?”_

She knew it was all she would think about for the rest of the day, tugging and pulling and hoping it wasn’t too short or too tight in certain areas, especially on the stomach area.

And what did he mean by "unwanted attention"? The only unwanted attention she was ever getting was from **him**. 

She just wanted this day to be over.

With a sigh, Gemma brushed her hand along the smooth countertop—polished, that she could see her reflection, as well as the Puppet’s in the corner. Its eyes were still on her, just as intensely as it was when she got here over thirty minutes ago.

_You're just being paranoid._

Tiny footsteps padded along the tile floor to the counter, and Gemma raised her head to meet the eyes of a young boy no older than seven, with hazel eyes and a mop of messy brown hair. Next to him was a young man about her age and looked much like the little boy next to him; he was slim, but not necessarily skinny, with the same light skin and the same messy brown hair, and brown eyes. In his hands was a bundle of tickets.

“Welcome to the Prize Corner, what can I get for you?” She smiled, if a bit forced, and wrapped her arms around her midsection protectively, as if to hide her body away in the same. The man became visibly flustered, his lightly freckled face turning red.

_Oh, he was cute._

_“Perhaps it would do you some good to lose a little bit of weight. No one is going to find even a pretty girl like you attractive with that pouch showing.”_

“Uh—”

“Hi, miss! Uhm… c…can I get the—” the boy was no less flustered than the older man standing next to him, but he pointed a tiny finger behind her to one of the plushies. “I like him…”

“I guess he wants Foxy.” The man chuckled, and the boy beamed when she handed over the little stuffed Foxy plushie; he smiled wide, his hazel eyes wide with astonishment.

“Thank you, miss! Wow, he’s so cool!” He stood by the counter, squeezing, and examining his new toy.

"Matthew!" a group of kids—a small group of three—called out, and the boy, presumably Matthew, turned around. "We're gonna go play with Mangle now!"

"Okay!" The boy turned and thrust the Foxy plushie right into the man’s hands. “I wanna go play with Mangle! Hold Foxy for me! Please?”

The man was dumbfounded, left sputtering as he watched the boy run away with his friends into Kid’s Cove. “Hey, wait a second—!”

And then there were two.

“Kids,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Get distracted easy."

“Tell me about it.” The man looked a bit lost with a little fox plushie, not sure what to do with it.

There was a short pause between them as he leaned his back against the counter. It was almost as if they were both awkwardly in their own minds, trying to figure out what to say to each other.

She had to wonder why he was still there; she wasn’t expecting company.

“So uhm—” He broke the silence first. “What’s it like working here? At the prize corner, I mean? Do you just… stand her all day, or?”

Gemma wasn’t too good at small talk, but she could try. “It gets boring sometimes. My boss lets me have a chair if I need it, and I get breaks since I’m here all day.”

“Do you like it?”

“It wasn’t my first choice. I was originally a waitress, but… creepy guys like to hit on the waitresses, and I couldn’t handle it.”

She supposed she had to deal with it regardless, though.

“Oh, well… that makes sense.”

“What about you?” She decided to ask, “work, I mean.”

“Well, I uh, don’t have a job right now. I live with my sister. But I do IT. Y’know, Information Technology? I do coding and maintenance on software, things like that… I also build computers.”

“Ooh, so you’re a computer nerd?”

“Uh… I uh—I guess you could say that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Uh—the name is Scott, by the way.”

“Gemma.”

“Gemma? I’ve never heard that name before. It’s… it’s really pretty.”

The compliment made her stomach twist up in knots. She hasn’t had a crush in a long time, at least not since middle school.

A crush…

It wasn’t like she had a chance anyway.

“You know, Mr. Computer-Nerd,” he laughed at the nickname. “We’re actually looking for someone to help out with the animatronics once in a while. Fix them up and run regular maintenance on them. Sounds your speed.”

“I mean, IT isn't exactly the same thing as taking apart an animatronic, but... luckily, I, uh... I build robots, too. I uh... actually used to be in charge of a robotics club in the next town over.”

"Really?" He nodded his head.

“Well, I, uh… might just consider it,” He said with a grin, “especially since a… a cute girl is offering.”

Now it was her turn blush, burning through her cheeks. Her face felt like a hot oven.

“Actually—” he turned to face her, setting the Foxy plush down on the counter. “Could I… maybe get your number?”

. . .

“Marcus and I have to run to the store real quick. We’re out of ingredients for the icing so we need to pick up some things.”

Gemma didn’t need a cake. She barely wanted a party to begin with, but she always had difficulty saying no, especially to Sarah.

“Okay but, please be quick,” Gemma begged, and Sarah nodded.

“We won’t be long. Plus, you won’t be here alone. William is still here.”

Being alone with William was the last thing Gemma wanted. The most she could do is try to keep her distance. “Yeah, fine. I guess I’ll occupy myself in the arcade or something.”

With the knowledge that William was watching from the security room.

“Great! Oh, and there’s a box of parts in Owen’s office that needs taken to parts and services. You don’t mind, do you?”

That was the one room Gemma hasn’t been in. That was William’s job—sometimes Marcus would do it if William wasn’t available—and yet the parts have been gathering in Mr. Owens’ office like he was afraid to go into parts and services himself.

“Yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Great! We’ll be back soon!”

And then she was left alone in the main party room. It was late, but well-lit, providing her some bit of comfort in the quiet of after hours.

The bright overhead lights flickered, and she swore that from the corner of her eyes, she could see Bonnie twitch on stage.

She never really noticed how unsightly the restaurant was until now, now that she was actually looking and observing. A building so shoddily built that wires hung from the ceiling; there were holes in the tile floors that never looked clean, like a plastic tupperware after its had a serving of spaghetti.

She could see the security office down the hall; normally, she would see William with his feet propped up on his desk and the little tablet in his hands as he watched the security cameras. He would flash her a smile and a wave of his hand.

Tonight, it was empty.

Luckily, it made her job a bit easier.

At least he wouldn’t be watching her.

The box wasn’t big and could have easily been carried back to parts and services quickly. Alas, here she was doing it for him. Despite its size, it was still fairly heavy. She didn’t have to carry it for long, just down the hall to a door on the left reading “Parts and Services” in dulled, red writing from years of wear.

The door itself seemed of solid metal—heavy like it was trying to… keep something in, rather than keep something out.

She pushed the door and slowly, it swung open, groaning as the hinges creaked and the frame scratched the floor. The air was toxic and putrid, the smell of death like a punch to her lungs lingering in the air.

_What the hell is that?_

William never mentioned it but at one point, Marcus pointed out the nauseating smell, how it must have been rats that died within the walls where they couldn’t easily be found and disposed of. He claimed to have cleaned the entire room from top to bottom but looking at it now, it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

What's more—that smell definitely did not smell like it was coming from rats. It was too strong to come from a few rats, unless there were thousands dead within those walls. She wanted to gag at the smell and didn’t want to get too close. 

Her eyes scanned the room, finding Chica on the wall to her left missing her arms. Bonnie was on the wall directly in front of her, missing a faceplate. There was Freddy on her right looking the best out of them, and then there was Foxy, looking the worst. A missing ear, a leg, and half of his torso. For the most part, all that remained was an endoskeleton.

They were robots, but it almost felt… melancholy.

They may have been robots, but they made her childhood—provided her comfort among all the bullshit.

“Well, at least you don’t look too bad,” Gemma uttered, “how’s it going, Fazbear?” She didn’t expect an answer. It was a robot after all; they had been programmed to respond to specific words and phrases when they were still in commission at the diner. But now here they were.

For now, she had to ignore the smell, stepping over Freddy’s legs and walking towards the shelves Foxy was slumped against. Many boxes were labeled “Parts”, some opened and others as if they hadn’t been touched in several years.

She stood on her toes and slid the box onto an empty space on the metal shelf. The lights flickered over her head, and the whirring of mechanical parts and metal clanking against metal had her body freeze, hit by a sudden chill in the air.

There was only one thing—well, technically four—in this room that could be making that noise, and she didn’t dare turn around.

She could hear mechanical heads turning and eyes flickering, almost like they were watching her.

“I’m superb as far as attitude goes. Lacking in physicality. You make a habit out of talking with robots and you might fit in well with us.”

If anything, she could expect William of all people, but as far as she knew William was not here, and that sure as hell wasn't William’s voice. It was far too robotic, anyway, though smooth and deep, but still familiar to her.

And she knew exactly where—or who—it came from.

Finally, Gemma turned her head. Instead of three broken animatronics, all slumped back on the floor as they had been, they were… walking. Talking. Standing there and watching her, expectantly.

“Don’t be scared!” The Chica animatronic begged, but Gemma was already scared—how can she not be? Sentient, talking animatronics wasn’t a normal thing.

Gemma should be scared. Any normal person would be.

Her mouth gaped, like a fish out of water. Her lungs threatened a scream, but nothing came out, even when a metal hand came to clamp tight over her mouth. Her back crashed into a hard, mechanical body behind her and Foxy loomed over her, his glowing yellow eye glaring—a warning. 

Eyes widened, her breath ragged and hard, and her hands ripped and fought at the hand covering her mouth.

The smell was so strong that he was so close—rotting, gut-wrenching, brain-numbingly foul. 

She couldn't scream no matter how much she wanted to, her breathing labored and coming out in loud gasps of air. 

“Aye, calm down. We don’t want t’e security ta hear ya screamin’, lass,” the pirate fox grumbled behind her, “and sumt’in tells me, ya don’t want ‘im to be hearin’, either.”

Slowly, his hand left and her lips clamped shut nice and tight, and her body sunk to the floor, legs wobbly and unable to hold herself up anymore.

She had to be dreaming. Hallucinating—something. This didn't make any sense.

Yet again, sentient robots wasn't exactly something that could be reasoned. 

“Wha—what’s going on?” She questioned, her voice broken and brittle. “this isn’t normal—why—”

As Chica came closer, so did the foul smell of death, as well as Gemma’s panic, and Chica spoke again, “we think you can help us.”

What was simply uncontrolled breathing turned into hyperventilation, stuck feeling like she was unable to breathe.

Her, help them? 

_That's it. You’re going crazy._

“M-me?”

The entire thing seemed utterly asinine. Gemma had always been skeptical of these things—she never believed in the paranormal.

This had to be a nightmare of sorts, she thought—vicious and lucid; ghosts didn't exist, and animatronics couldn't just suddenly spring to life walking and talking like humans. And yet here they were. 

“The Puppet… has let us know we can trust you.”

So, the Puppet really has been watching her; it’s been observing her, and for a purpose.

The jingle of keys and the sounds of footsteps down the hall interrupted them, and when the metal door screeched open the animatronics fell lifeless into heaps of mental on the floor. William peaked inside.

“Gemma? What are you doing in here, Love? Sarah and Marcus came back a few minutes ago.”

Her panicked eyes looked at him. “W-William,” She said his name, like confirmation to herself. She didn’t care how she felt towards him before. He was real. He was there in front of her. “I-I think I’m seeing things. They—they started moving and—and-“ She choked back a sob and William came to stand at her side.

“Come on, Love, let’s get you out of here, alright?”

Gemma nodded as William’s hands grabbed her arms, and he pulled her to stand on her feet and into his chest.

“It’s just a stressful night, my dear. Some rest would do you well.” William tried to comfort her, petting the back of her hair with tender affection. Gemma flinched at the touch. “Let’s get back to the party room. I’ll help take your mind off things.”

As she peeled herself away from him, she nodded her head and wiped the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Okay.” William took her hand, and Gemma took one last look at the animatronics whose eyes seemed to follow her as William led her out of Parts and Services.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh... animal crossing amirite?

_Henry was an amazing friend from day one. Although Henry was perfect alone, everything we did together was more so; it was beyond compare. I helped him create wonderful things._

_And then there was his family… just as perfect as he was, with a beautiful, loving wife, and three beautiful children—Nathan, Sammy, and Charlie. They were all the things I ever wanted to see in my own children._

_The love they held for their father unparalleled, unwavering. They did everything they were asked and more. They were young and amenable._

_My family… was the opposite._

_I didn’t spend the time that I should with them. I was so busy working that I never had the time. No time was the right time to take my daughter out for ice cream, or to take my sons to go watch basketball, or football—nor did I know if they even liked sports—but nonetheless, you would think they would be grateful for what they had._

_I worked hard for what we had—worked hard to have a wife and a family. I worked hard to have the house we had, and so they could live a comfortable life._

_They didn’t appreciate a bit of it._

_No. That wasn't right. I… I was much more than Henry ever was_

It was uncomfortable in the party room—at least for her.

The party room was colorful, much different than it looked before she went off to Parts and Services—how long ago? —at least enough not to be dimmed by Gemma’s joyless form; she appeared as if she didn’t belong in the room.

However, the smell of pizza wafted in the air, a sign Sarah and Marcus were back and in the kitchen. A small comfort that at least, she wasn’t completely alone with William now.

She sat at an empty table and let her gaze fall turn to the prize corner. The Puppet was still in its box, but it had opened the lid just a smidge. All she could see were its silver eyes, piercing her with ferocity.

Her skin prickled.

_S A V E T H E M._

“How about a present to cheer a pretty girl up?” William’s voice nearly made her jump out of her own skin; he had a smug grin, and she outwardly cringed back at the compliment.

There was no point in saying anything about it, though, stuck in a strange state of feeling numb and too afraid to speak up.

What the hell was it she had just heard?

The voice had been garbled and broken, but she heard its words loud and clear.

This was doing the opposite of taking her mind off of it. In fact, she was feeling worse, especially now that she knew the Puppet really was watching and it wasn’t just her imagination.

From the table, he plucked a medium-size gift bag and set it onto her lap. A Fredbear and Friends giftbag, more specifically. It was common knowledge he was one of the oldest employees, so it wasn’t necessarily surprising that he would have it.

This would officially go down as her second-worst birthday, not that that was saying much.

Gemma hesitantly grabbed the top of the gift bag; their legs touched when he sat next to her, and she could feel his arm drape across the back of her chair.

 _Please stop,_ she wanted to say. She didn’t want to open the bag, but she felt obligated to with him watching her, unwavering. She wanted to throw the gift bag back in his face and tell him to leave her alone, yet…

She didn’t have the strength to do that.

His eyes were hard to ignore—it felt as if he were burning holes into her. So Gemma gathered every last bit of mental strength she had left; slowly, she tore open the top and peered inside.

The last thing she expected to see were Fredbear and Spring Bonnie plushies; as far as she knew, they had been discontinued when the place closed, but…

Again, it wasn’t unlikely for William to have them… but how did he know?

She had both previously, as a child. They were gifts from Henry before…

Well, before she wasn’t allowed to contact him or his family anymore.

Unfortunately, Kujo had ripped them apart after she moved into her apartment. Chewed right through the box, even. The last things she had from them.

“What’s wrong, Love?” He asked worriedly, looking to the bag quizzically. Her reaction clearly wasn’t quite what William was expecting. Part of him wondered if he placed something else inside the bag in his hurry, but he knew himself and his meticulous ways. He wouldn’t dare be so careless.

After all, careless wasn’t in his nature.

“Was it a mistake? I can always get something better if you don’t like it. Is it a little… too old?”

And he truly did seem worried she didn’t like his gift. Unlike many times, this time, she couldn’t read him very well. “N-no, I—I’m just…”

She set the bag down to pull out the Spring Bonnie plush, sitting it in her lap to play with the furry ears on its head. Something to keep herself mildly distracted and avoid his gaze. “They stopped selling these a while ago, so I didn’t expect to see them again. My uh… dog chewed them up beyond repair.”

Yes, the dog. William knew well about the dog.

“Well, I’m glad you like it.” William pat her head, something just to enjoy the feel of her silky hair beneath his fingertips. “And happy birthday, Love.”

. . .

“The pink wire is buried in there somewhere. It leads to the voice box.”

“Pink wire to voice box. Got it. Light please?”

William shined his flashlight into Toy Bonnie’s head, enough for Scott to see the pink wire the man had been talking about.

“Just hook it into the back of the voice box. It will start talking when you do, so don’t panic.”

Scott nodded, his hand gently pushing the wires to find where the pastel pink wire needed to go.

Just as William warned, Toy Bonnie came to life, head twitching side to side and Scott yelled, falling back on his ass.

“Hey, kids! It’s me, Bonnie! H-Hey, hey kids! It’s m-m-me, B-Bonnie!”

“Shit,” William cursed, “Well, it’s busted. Old Bonnie’s old parts don’t seem to be up to snuff these days. I’ll see what we can do.”

“Alright. I’m gonna grab some water from the break room. Want anything?” Scott stood from the floor and dusted his pants at the knees. William turned his head from Toy Bonnie’s head to the monitor that sat on his desk, and he let out a long, frustrated breath.

“I’m fine. Don’t be long.”

“Got it.”

Today, the break room was quiet—William hadn’t reared his ugly head into the break room to bother her, and she hadn’t seen hide or tail of Sarah or Marcus.

She gave herself a once over in the mirror with anxious eyes, medium-length brown hair falling delicately over her shoulders. Yellow dress freshly cleaned, paired with white knee-high socks and a comfortable pair of light brown oxfords.

She thought she looked okay, at best. She just couldn’t get her mind off of her dress, especially after what William had said. It was form-fitting, but was it bad?

Was it a good kind of form-fitting or the bad kind?

She tugged helplessly at her dress, tugging it down, off of her chest, off her waist, but it always seemed to fall back into place, much to her chagrin.

Maybe she could ask Owen about a different uniform? Maybe a polo shirt and pants would be more fitting—the men’s uniforms.

The door opened behind her, watching from the mirror as Scott entered the break room, dressed up in a lavender polo and brown slacks, and a thin pair of black gloves over his hands.

“Hey Gemma, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Scott greeted her with a mirthful smile.

Suddenly, she wasn’t so worried about her dress anymore.

She felt comfortable, and relaxed, even, and she found herself smiling with him.

But, Scott didn’t look nearly as lively as the last time they met last week, his eyes dulled with exhaustion. They had been talking over the phone since then, but he never mentioned he applied, or even got the job.

But she was happy to see him again.

“You didn’t tell me you were working here!”

“Meh, I wanted to surprise you. What are you gonna do about it, Pretty Girl?”

For some reason, it felt different when Scott said it. It didn’t feel creepy and it didn’t make the airs on her arms stand on end with goosebumps.

His shoes sounded against the floor as he made his way over towards a package of bottled water by the lockers. “By the way, I remember you said your birthday was last week.”

Her smile instantly faltered and she turned her gaze away. “Yeah—”

“I didn’t get you anything, but I figured maybe we could… go out Sunday? If you’re free?”

Go out? On a date, “go out”? Gemma’s never been on a date before, much less… been out with anyone. And for her birthday? She wasn’t sure.

She’s never had the chance to go shopping with friends. To go to the store with her parents and get lost looking for the toys aisles.

But she wanted to do this—to have the chance to go out and do something for once—for the first time. Who better than with Scott?

And she noticed… the way her heart raced with Scott was different from the way her heart raced around William.

“Lucky for you, I don’t have plans for Sunday.”

“Yeah, I am lucky. I get to take a cute girl out to lunch on Sunday.”

They watched each other for a moment as silence fell around them. His eyes, although clearly spelling out “I’m-about-to-faint-from-exhaustion”, they were intense and excited.

She wondered what happened to the awkwardness they first experienced, or if they had already moved passed that.

The intensity of his eyes made her blush, and her hands fingered the bottom of her skirt.

“Well, I have to start heading to the prize corner. I’ll be seeing you, Scott.”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya.” His eyes followed her as she left the break room, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was easy to act bold and put on a brave face, but his chest felt like it was about to burst.

What was she doing to him?

. . .

The end of the workday couldn’t have come any sooner, really. At least she hasn’t seen much of William; he came by to say hi every now and again, but he seemed… annoyed. He was frustrated about something, but he never stuck around long enough to find out what it was all about.

She didn’t think she wanted him to, anyway.

It was cleaning time; Gemma had a small bucket of cleaner sitting atop the prize corner counter when Scott made another appearance, a large cardboard box in his arms reading “spare parts” across the front. After hours were quiet, almost hauntingly so, especially in the absence of the shrill laughter and screams of children.

“Not to sound like a chicken, but this place is fuckin creepy after hours.”

“Yeah,” Gemma agreed with a short laugh. “It doesn’t help that the animatronics like to stare sometimes. Especially this guy.” She pointed a thumb towards the box by the counter, where the Puppet was hiding away.

“Oh yeah, William said they have some kind of weird database build in to recognize predators or whatever.”

Well, to be honest, that kind of explained a lot of things, but after her last run-in with the animatronics, she knew that wasn’t the case. At least not with the Puppet. 

“Speaking of which,” Scott continued, “I uh, hate to ask you for this favor. William said to take these to parts and services but uh… I don’t know where it is and my sister called me in to watch Matthew, so I gotta split asap. Can you take it for me?” 

Parts and services wasn’t hard to find, but she supposed when it was dark and you didn’t know what you were looking for, she probably wouldn’t have found it, either. What's more, she was hesitant to go in after her encounter with them last week, but what could be the worst that could happen? They weren’t going to kill her, right? They were just asking for her help last week, if she remembered correctly.

She never did find out what that was about.

_“The Puppet… has let us know we can trust you.”_

Gemma’s wary eyes landed on the box again. The Puppet stayed inside, not once poking its head out to look at her.

“That’s a big box, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Scott said with a short laugh. “William pulled this out of Parts and Services earlier today when we were trying to fix up Bonnie. None of them worked. I don’t know why we wouldn’t just throw them out, but… maybe he has a use for them. I don’t know.”

She really wasn’t keen on going back, but… fuck, she couldn’t disappoint Scott.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get it here in a sec.” 

“Thanks, Gemma. Call me when you get home, alright?” 

“Will do. Be careful.” 

Scott smiled at her, keys jingling around his finger. “Oh, can you also give these to William for me?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, pulling another set of keys from his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Gemma. I owe you for this.” 

She didn’t want to do this, and she held the keys helplessly in her hand as she watched Scott leave. Of course, she could easily ask Sarah or Marcus to do it, but they were still cleaning up and she didn’t want to bother them. 

It shouldn’t hurt just to give William some goddamn keys and leave, right?

With a sigh, she stuffed the keys into her jeans pocket and walked around the counter to pick up the box.

It wasn’t as heavy as it looked, just light enough for her to handle with two hands, but it was big, easily blocking her line of sight. She had to step carefully to parts and services, backing up into the door and pushing it open with her back. 

She turned to enter the room and took a step forward; her foot hit the threshold, sending herself and the box to the floor. She fell head-first, cracking her skull on the floor. She couldn’t even let out a pained gasp, having nearly blacked out on impact. Her vision spotted with black, although for a mere couple of seconds. The splitting headache came soon after, and she hissed, clutching onto her head and writhing in suffering on the dirty floor. 

Fuck—fuck, that hurt. At least it wasn’t the worst pain she’s ever experienced.

“Quite the fall. Are you alright?” Freddy’s robotic voice broke through the air, making her head throb again as she tried to sit up off the floor.

Freddy made his way around Chica and offered Gemma a large, furry hand, of which Gemma quickly dismissed. 

She didn’t want to touch him, at all. Zilch. Nada. 

“It’s not my fault the box was too big,” Gemma fussed pitifully, a mix of pain and discomfort. She was able to sit herself up to begin amassing the parts that scattered onto the floor. A couple of voice boxes. Some tools. Some wires. A head. An arm. “I think that’s everything.”

“Aye Lassie, don’t be strainin’ yer body after a fall like that.” 

“Where is it supposed to go?” 

“Aww, how _hoppin_ cute! Fazbear being nice!” Bonnie said with a hint of sarcasm, and Chica nudged him with a growl. 

“Leave it, Bon. She needs help.” 

“Loosen those _springs_ of yours, they’re wound too tight,” Bonnie shot back. 

“No, I’m fine,” Gemma answered, “I can do it.” As she stood back on her feet, there was more pain, blazing hot and hard against her head, making her dizzy and nauseous. Her hands instinctively reached for her head again, fingers digging into her temples as she tried to massage the headache away. There was no way she didn’t have a brain injury. “God, it hurts.” Her voice was brittle and her chest began to tighten. 

“Aye, course it hurts!” Foxy said loudly, voice hot with irritation and making her wince, “ye don’t listen ta no one!” 

It was rare to hear the fox talk, but they all knew his temper well enough to grow anxious at the sound of it. He had the potential to kill, just like they all did, but he was the most susceptible to submit to the urge with his anger. 

“Miss,” Freddy called her, his voice gentle. It was odd to be called “Miss”, much less by an animatronic bear. “Where does it need to go?” 

“Anywhere on the shelf,” she said with a sigh. “Uhm… thanks.” 

She finally could get a good look at them as she settled against the wall behind her. They were much bigger than her, at least 7-foot tall. Not only were they broken and deteriorated, but they were dirty—dirt and something else had dried into the faux fur, especially around the openings—the mouth and the eyes. Except for Bonnie of course, who was missing a face plate. Could that be where the smell was coming from? She couldn’t be too sure.

Walking, talking sentient animatronics. So she wasn’t going insane.

There was a little bit of hope there—that she wasn’t delusional like her mother was… or is, rather.

After the first time, thankfully, that fear was replaced with morbid curiosity. Sure, it was still weird and scary, but… they haven’t hurt her yet when they easily could have.

Except for Foxy. She wasn’t going near him.

“By now, you must have noticed the smell,” Freddy commented as he shoved the box onto the highest shelf.

“Isn’t it just rats?” Gemma asked.

“HA!” Bonnie laughed. “Did you hear that, Fazbear? Rats! As if they smell that bad!”

Confusion washed over her. Did that mean there weren’t any? Then what was causing the smell?

“Then… then what—?”

“Children,” Freddy answered, “Murdered at the hands of… someone they thought they could trust.”

The dread crept over her—an icy chill that made her shiver, and mind-numbingly cold. She couldn’t deal with this right now—she just seriously injured her head and probably had to go to the hospital, but… this time, she felt inclined to listen.

He continued, “Four of them, gathered in one place. No one found the bodies. No one thought to check the suits they died in.”

“What are you saying?”

“We were murdered. We all had our birthday’s the same day… all victims, lured away from the party.”

“It hurts,” Chica cried—as much as her voice could convey, but Gemma heard the pain and suffering loud and clear. “We’re in so much pain. We just want to know peace.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bonnie snapped, “We deserve revenge for what he did to us.”

They were murdered—children murdered on what was supposed to be their happiest days. What kind of sick person would do that?”

“And we will,” Freddy answered, “but we also need help.”

“W-what am I supposed to do?” Gemma asked; she wanted to help, it was in her nature to help, but what could she do? “I’m not supposed to touch the animatronics without permission, or—or… I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Forget it, Fazbear” Bonnie barked, “We don’t need her help.”

“Please, Gemma,” Chica begged, “we don’t have anyone else we can trust this with.”

“Maybe we can’t trust her either!”

“Marionette says we can! I trust her!”

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, coming closer. A flashlight shined down the hall, and the animatronics fell to the floor again on the spot. 

Light flickered in the room and William stood in the door, light from his flashlight dancing across the broken animatronics before landing on Gemma. “Hey, what are you still doing here? You were supposed to clock out fifteen minutes ago.” There was amusement in his voice, hardening into something more serious.

Watching the sudden change was unnerving.

“I thought I heard voices. Have you seen anyone?” 

“I uh… Scott couldn’t find it and had to leave, so he asked me to bring it in,” She answered softly, unconfidently. “I hit my head on the floor… I was crying and… talking to myself, I guess. I thought there was no one else but me.” 

“You hit your head?” Concern was laced in his voice—fake, but real enough to fool an investigator. “If you were making that much commotion, we should get you to a hospital, Love. There’s a chance you’ve given yourself a concussion.” William shined the light onto her face, being sure to avoid shining it into her eyes, and she flinched back. Sure enough, the place she hit looked a bit red, likely going to bruise later. “I’ll take you. The longer we wait, the worse it could be. I’ll drive you.” 

Gemma didn’t have her own car, but she sure as hell knew she wasn’t letting William of all people drive her. She wasn’t about to be left alone and totally defenseless with him. 

The best plan she had was to get back to her apartment and give Scott a call, just like he told her to. 

She wasn’t taking the chance. 

“I think I’ll be fine on my own,” she said, “I’ll head home and uh, give Sarah a call.”

_“Oh, can you also give these to William for me?”_

Fuck, the keys.

She felt in her pockets to pick out the keys Scott had given to her. “And here, Scott said to give you these.”

He sighed, a sigh Gemma thought was a sigh of defeat as he took the keys from her, hooking them around his finger, and his lips straightened into a tight frown, and eyebrows furrowed with clear frustration. “And what if you pass out on the street? The world isn’t always kind, Gemma."

She didn’t need him lecturing her. She already knew. 

"Anyone could take advantage of a girl collapsed in the middle of the road.” His hand encircled her wrist, meant to encourage her and perhaps coax her into doing as he told her. “Just let me take care of you, Love. This one time, when you need it most.” 

Instead, it just made her nervous, defensive.

“N-no, really, I’ll be fine.” She gave a tug on her wrist and his hand stiffened—enough to hurt. Panic started to set in again, chest rising and falling rapidly like a cornered bunny. She tugged two more times. “W-William, let go. I’ll go on my own.” Her breathing became uneven, even erratic trying so frantically to pull away from him. 

Her body finally acted, raising her other hand to his chest and she pushed—hard. She stumbled back, falling onto the floor again right in front of the fallen Freddy. The smell of death mixed with the shot of pain through her head was enough to have her doubling over, feeling bile rising in her throat. She would have feared being so close to the animatronic, if only her fear of William wasn’t so, so much worse. 

William’s face contorted with rage, and he reached for Gemma again—

“Hey, is anyone still here?” The voice of Scott called out. “I uh… forgot my wallet.” His voice was on edge, and as he made his way down the hall, he found himself in front of the open door to parts and services. Gemma on the floor. He eyed down William as if trying to assess the situation. “Uh… sorry to interrupt. Gemma, can you show me the break room? I forgot where it was?” He knew damn well where it was, but something told him he needed to separate the two. William said nothing to Scott, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that Scott barely caught—something the man couldn’t read, but it was unsettling, nonetheless. 

“Y-yeah, sure.” Despite the pain, she hurried off the floor again, holding her head as it throbbed.

She stood close to Scott, wearily leading to the main party room and back into the break room. 

“Ah, there it is.” Right in the middle of the table, a black leather wallet sat. Scott picked it up off the table, and Gemma fidgeted. 

“Uh, Scott… I hate to bother but, uh… I need to go to the hospital.” 

"I'll take you," he said without missing a beat, "Let’s hurry.” Scott led her out with a hand hovering over her back, ushering to the door. “Is everything alright?” 

The fresh air felt nice against her skin, but she was all clammy and sweaty, making the air ever the slightest bit chilly. 

“I… may have given myself a concussion,” she said, raising her hand to hold the front of her head. A very visible mark was beginning to form, the red mark turning into a soft purple going into her hairline. “The box you gave me… It was too big for me to see in front of me and I tripped on the—the metal plate on the floor?” 

“Gemma!” His voice was concerned—genuinely concerned—as he squinted, trying to look over her head in the dark. The bruise was beginning to look angry. “I’ll make sure we get there fast, then.”

Scott was kind enough to open the passenger side for her, and as he got into the car next to her, he squeezed the wheel tight between his hands. “Shit,” he cursed silently, “I’m sorry, Gemma.”

“No cussing, Uncle Scott!”

“Oh, I uh… also have Matthew with me,” Scott said sheepishly. “Kid was getting hungry, so I was gonna take him to McDonald's or something. We can go after we get you to the hospital, though.”

“Hi, miss!” Matthew greeted her, quite chipper for it being nearly midnight.

“Hi, Matthew. You can just call me Gemma.” She smiled through the pain, and Matthew nodded his head eagerly. “Okay, Gemma!”

“Alright then. To the hospital, we go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some believe a red door protects the occupants from evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW and CW: mentions of rape and violence.
> 
> ** edited i tried writing in 1st person experimentally but it didn't work out so it is not rewritten in 3rd  
> ** edited previous version somehow made their way in but it should be more clear now lmfao

It had been about 14 hours since Gemma had been to the hospital—she had a moderate concussion. She couldn’t say she was the least bit surprised, not with the way she hit her head yesterday.

Although, the headaches and nausea weren’t new, and so at first, she made the assumption she could handle it a bit better—more than most others.

_How wrong she was._

More so than just the headaches and nausea, she had to deal with lights and loud noises.

She couldn’t have the blinds open. The sunlight hurt.

She had to keep Kujo from barking. It hurt like hell.

Fortunately, Scott dropped off Tylenol in her mailbox on his way to work that morning, after the doctor had been insistent on not taking Ibuprofen—“It can increase the chances of bleeding”, and with only Ibuprofen in her house, Scott wasn’t keen of the idea of Gemma withering away in pain.

He really was very sweet to her. What did she do to deserve a guy like him?

Nothing.

Thanks to Scott though, the headache was mostly gone.

Instead, replaced with severe nausea. It felt like watching one of those new front-load washers as the room spun around in circles around her.

Even watching them made her sick.

Kujo whined on the floor, and when Gemma looked down his eyes were already on her, wide with what looked like concern.

That, or he wanted something.

“What is it, Kujo?” She asked weakly—she wished she had someone to come take care of Kujo for her. She didn’t feel well enough to be getting up over and over again whenever he needed something.

But he was her baby. She did what she had to do.

“Gotta go outside?”

His tail thumped harshly against the wooden floor and he sprung up. His four legs carried him back to the kitchen to wait by the back door, a glass sliding door that had been covered by thick, brown bedsheets.

The doctor recommended getting blackout curtains, but they really were expensive, and so she had to improvise. Curtains it was. And they worked well enough, barely allowing light to come inside—just enough that she could see, but it didn’t hurt her eyes.

She left the door open, leaving the curtain hanging over the open doorway and she sat at the small table by the doorway.

And analog clock hung on the wall just above the stovetop, reading just a little after 2PM, about an hour after her usual lunch hour.

Admittedly, everything was still a little blurry. She couldn’t see the clock that well, and every now and again, little colorful dots would obscure her sight.

But the nausea was making it hard to build an appetite. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon during her school lunch hour and she knew she had to eat something whether she was hungry or not.

Takeout?

She certainly wasn’t in the best shape to be cooking—not that she even had anything to cook in the first place. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had more cobwebs than food.

With school and working a little over forty hours a week, she didn’t really have time to cook.

Kujo eventually came back inside, and Gemma made sure the door was closed and locked tight.

Unlock. Lock it again.

Unlock. Lock it again.

She pulled on the handle, making sure it was locked before she was finally satisfied, and made her way back towards the living room, only to stop at the phone hanging on the wall in the hallway, connecting the kitchen to the living room.

Should she just do it now?

Better to get it done and over with now, rather than later, she supposed.

She reached to grab the phone, and her fingertips barely brushed against the handle before it started ringing.

She never got calls nowadays unless they were from Scott, which was new in itself. Sometimes she got calls from Sarah, but she knew for a fact they were both at work.

Well, it was 2PM.

Her stomach churned. The loud, shrill sounds of the phone felt like torture to her head, pulsing and throbbing and she wanted nothing more than to tear the damn thing off of the wall and trash it.

Regardless, she plucked the phone off of the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey Gemma, I heard about your concussion,” Sarah said; she was normally loud speaking, but it was easy to tell she was speaking softly into the speaker, careful of Gemma’s condition. “My break is almost over, but I thought I should give you a quick call and check up on you. How are you doing? Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”

“Not hungry yet, really,” Gemma answered, “but… it’s a little after my normal lunch time. I was just about to order take out or something.”

“I was going to bring you some pizza or something but it kind of slipped my mind, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine—”

“Oh, but William is about to go on his break soon!”

The name made her immediately made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge, and her hands felt oddly sweaty. She could feel the phone slowly slipping through her shaky fingers, and she quickly grabbed onto the handle with her other hand.

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed thickly—fuck, she needed some water.

Why did her body respond like this every time she so much as heard his name? She hated that he had this kind of effect on her.

He still reminded her so much of her father. She wasn’t even sure why. There was just _something_.

“N-no, really, don’t worry about it. I… I’ll just order something—”

“I already asked him. He said it wasn’t a problem, Gemma. I just don’t want you going out and spending your money since you aren’t working right now. You should be saving your money. The pizza is free for us, so I think you should just take it. Please don’t be stubborn.”

Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding and clenching together.

What else could she say?

How was she supposed to stay stress-free is the very cause of most of her stress would be in her living space?

Goddammit, Sarah.

“He’ll be there soon, hun,” she said; in that moment, her voice sounded mocking. “Just sit tight and feel better, okay?”

“Sarah, please—”

Sarah hung up. Gemma was met with the disconnect tone.

Fuck.

No way out of this now.

Slowly, she slid the phone back onto the receiver.

What now?

She needed water.

. . .

I’ve been to her house many times within the months I’ve known her; many nights have I spent outside her house, watching longingly into the living room window, and the “Beware of Dog” sign in the window had always been a bit of an eyesore.

Never have I been inside, although I may have, had it not been for that wretched dog.

I never did like animals, really, and they never seemed to like me, either. There were annoying things; fickle and loud, didn’t live long and provided no real use. So, I had concluded I had to go inside when the time was right.

The Fredbear plush I had given her for her birthday had been particularly helpful. It provided me the opportunity to see her at her most vulnerable, and her most beautiful.

It was almost like she wanted me to see her. No—she wanted to be seen. She didn’t even try to hide herself. She never turned Fredbear away while she was changing, not even into a new pair of panties. Quite the exhibitionist she was.

Now was not the time. My plan was still in the works, but it was a good time to test my limits, nonetheless. Perhaps someday, I could thank Sarah for the opportunity.

As I stepped up onto the stoop porch, I pat my back pocket. Good, it was still there.

I took a moment to listen—there was nothing to be heard on the other side of the door. It was totally silent. Not even her dog had come to the door, like he typically would even if I just stood outside the window. It was as if he could sense my presence, but this time, there was nothing.

I gave myself a quick once over in the glass door; I straightened my tie and rubbed the creases out of my shirt. I at least needed to make an attempt to look nice for the lady despite still being in my work clothes. If I didn’t, what kind of gentleman would I be?

I decided it was time. I swung open the glass door and knocked, gently yet firmly, on the red door behind it. I was met with silence.

Was she home? She knew to expect me, and I had even checked to make sure she was here before I left.

I listened a little closer.

The deadbolt lock turned and she opened the door. She looked a little mussed, but more cleaned up than I saw her on camera.

Before, she had clearly been braless, and I could see every outline of her breast and perky nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. She had put on a bra, it seemed, but nonetheless I could still see the outline of the cup.

However, she still wore the same thin, grey t-shirt and cute, teal-colored pyjama shorts. They were particularly short and I rather enjoyed the sight of her bare, well-fleshed and plump thighs.

I met her eyes. Her hazel eyes were a shade of brown, rather than the normal soft green shade—but there was a grimace of fear in her eyes—an oh-so-satisfying sight to see. She was even more beautiful with fear and confusion etched onto her face.

“H-hey, William.” She seemed unsure of herself, standing taut in the doorway.

“Hey there, love. Sarah informed me you were hungry. Sorry it took me so long. I made a quick stop on my way,” I said, “but, I brought my best mood and the best food just for you—from Marcus himself.” I held the little brown pizza box in front of me—decorated with a printed photo of the crew and the “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria” logo—and she moved to take it, reaching timidly before I pushed my way through her open doorway.

There was something beautiful in the making—my heart was giddy, my mind buzzing, and my imagination racing with all the things I could do to her now that she was right here in front of me.

I wished I could take her now, right up against her door. She wanted me to, from the looks of it, or she wouldn’t have worn such a deliciously short pair of shorts.

She said nothing, and simply closed the door.

Somehow, the shorts looked even better from her backside. They helped make her hips appear a bit wider than I knew they were. I had memorized every inch of her body, burned into my mind, after having seen it many times now thanks to Fredbear.

Her breasts were fairly average in terms of size, and she was still thin, but she was also bottom-heavy. I was always more of a hips-man, myself. It was like she was made for me. Perfectly sculpted in every way.

Those thoughts would have to wait.

Past the threshold, my eyes darted across her living room. No cameras in sight; there was a smoke alarm on the ceiling, but that was the only thing of notice. There was a deadbolt lock on her door, but no alarm system in place to alert her of my presence, should I hope to come in on my own time. Nothing new I hadn’t seen already, but I needed to see with my own eyes. Make sure it wasn’t missing something.

A snarl came from my right; Gemma’s dog was stood on edge, back hunched and baring his fangs.

Oh, but I had almost forgotten about the dog.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” The lie dripped through my teeth like a venom. I reached a hand down to pat the dog’s head, in which he snapped his jaws and I reared my, thankfully, uninjured hand back in surprise.

“His name is Kujo,” She said softly, and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were cast down to the solid wood floor, avoiding eye contact. She brushed a thick tuft of her medium length, brown hair over her shoulder, and pet it and twisted it around in her hand.

In the moment, she appeared so small and delicate—she almost reminded me of my daughter. She was long gone now, and the pain had since numbed.

“He’s got quite the set of teeth, love. Whatever you need a dog like this for?”

“Well, uh… he’s s…supposed to help with... certain things—” She was getting more nervous, telling by her stuttering. “he-he's ah… he was supposed to be a Service Animal but uh… they said he was t...too aggressive, so… now he's kind of like a guard dog.”

That raised more questions than answers. A Service Animal for what? Why a guard dog? Why would she find comfort in an aggressive breed? There has to be a reason. "Well, it’s wonderful you have something to help you through that, and he’s… quite adorable.”

Still, there was more to this than what she was letting on. I would find out one way or another, but no matter—it made things easier, in the end. It was always the victims who were the most vulnerable.

Except for that dog, of course, he was just another annoying obstacle.

I needed to strip her of the one thing that protected her. I needed her at her _most_ vulnerable and unguarded. "Is there anything I could do? Sarah confirmed with me you had a concussion."

Fear, perhaps? Unresolved trauma?

“No! Uh—n-no,” she fumbled, “the doctor said… mostly rest. No stress, no mentally strenuous tasks. Scott brought me some pain killers this morning.”

And of course, Scott. Our new co-worker. He needed to be gone, too, or I would risk them getting too close.

"You ought to be careful around him. You can never be too sure of a man's true intentions, especially young men."

I needed her to mistrust him. Anything to put a rift between them. It would only make my job much easier.

"Scott? He doesn't seem like a bad guy... he's been really sweet..."

So sweet and so naive she was.

"I just want you to be careful, Love. You probably don't want to hear relationship advice from an old man, but I had a daughter, once. I was a father, once. We just know these things."

"What happened to her?"

Ah yes, the question. It was an exciting question to answer, and I had to suppress the smile that spread across my face.

"She's gone. Died in a freak accident years ago."

And now, the apology-

"I'm sorry... about your daughter."

Predictable? Maybe.

"Nothing to concern yourself with." The pain was long gone. Some days, I felt even relieved she was gone.

My daughter. My wife...  
  
My sons...

My family was gone. But in their place, I could cultivate something new. Something better.

Starting with Gemma.

I will break her. Mold her. She will come to love me. Honor me. Adore me. Worship me.

She will bear me another child, and they, too, shall worship me.

And if I played my cards right, I could have it sooner than later.

A quick glance at the watch on my wrist told me I was already overstaying my break; I didn't get quite what I had come for, but progress was made nonetheless. "Looks like it's time for me to go, Love. Hope I didn't overstay my welcome."

The look she gave me told me I had-she was even happy to see me go. She was terribly easy to read. Terribly predictable.

_Do something different. Something you can't predict the outcome so easily._

There were many things I could have done in that moment. I could have taken her back to her room and taken her virginity then and there. I could have whisked her away, hidden her and kept her for myself-

Ah, but her dog.

Something small. Something subtle and a little more inconsequential, perhaps.

And so when I joined her at the open doorway, I opened my arms and I tugged her body close.

She felt much smaller in my arms than she looked.

For a moment, all was calm and silent. Not one of us made a breath; then she shifted, craning her neck to look at me.

Her eyes were beautiful; when those hazel eyes were laced with fear, though, they were truly bewitching-addicting, even.

I could feel her heartbeat so softly against my chest, and for a moment it felt as if our heartbeats were melding together, attracting each other like magnets.

But alas, we were more akin to magnets who repelled each other, in spite of how my heart yearned for her

She spoke-something so quiet I barely heard her over the sound of my own heartbeat. Sometimes, I forgot I had one.

"What was that, love?"

"Let go of me!"

Alas, it seemed we were more akin to magnets that opposed each other.

The shift in tension was unusual. Abnormal and abrupt. She has, up until recently, been so docile. Everything went to Hell in an instant, and any ounce of joy that I may have felt in that moment, ruined.

Her delicate hands pressed up against my chest and she shoved. I stumbled back, barely catching my footing before my back hit the wall closest to the door.

The flower was left trampled under my shoes.

I barely caught the growl on my right—a flash of brown fur as her damnable mutt sprang forward.

I hadn't even a moment to recover. Teeth sank into the flesh of my leg. I'd never felt a pain so intense.

And yet, it was _exciting._

And yet, more than pain, I felt anger. An anger so intense and overwhelming, and I could do little but watch her dog snarl and pull until his jaw was soaked red with my own blood.

A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air like the teeth ripping through my flesh-heart wrenching, but like music to my ears all the same.

"F-fuck!" She let out a tearful sob, I'm sorry-" she croaked, her sweet voice brittle and broken as she stepped back, sliding down the wall farthest from the door. "K-Kujo! Down!"

He relented, jaw unlatching from my leg and instead, moved to take a protective stance in front of her. He growled again, low and dangerous, with blood drenching his mouth.

I looked to inspect my leg; the sight certainly wasn't a pretty one, a mangled mess of flesh and blood.

It would need stitches, and quite a few of them. I couldn't exactly go to the hospital, though. These, I would have to do on my own.

But Gemma was crumbling before me. How I loved the song of suffering she sang, how she took pained gasps for air as if I were actually strangling her. The agonized look upon her face almost made it all worth it.

"I'm afraid I must get this fixed immediately. Enjoy the rest of your day, Gemma, and no worries. These things sort themselves out."

And they will, eventually. That dog will die by my hand. I'll make sure of it.

. . .

The tension didn’t leave even after he left, crushing her on all sides. Blood coated the floor, and Kujo stood in front of her in alarm.

A red rose had been left forgotten on the floor, trampled with spots of bright red blood splattered on the petals.

However, the flower was the least of her worries.

She kicked and spread her legs out in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly with heavy breaths. Her palms slapped against the floor and she arched her back off of the wall, hands coming up to clutch her face.

She was stuck in a nightmare of her past, and unable to find her own way out of it.

The sounds of her cries echoed through the small space. She writhed on the floor, at that moment the only way she felt she could fight back.

She could feel _his_ hands all over her, groping her thighs and her barely formed pubescent breasts. She could hear his voice in her ear—and she was afraid, because she knew what came next.

It hurt. It always did.

And every time, he promised if she was a _good girl_ that he would make it hurt less.

He never did.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop—“ She begged and pleaded, over and over again the words falling off her lips. “It hurts. Please stop!”

A furry head pushed past her arms, rubbing against her face, and two heavy paws pressed against her chest. A wet tongue lapped against her face, and little by little her breath calmed, and her hands grasped the thick, leather collar around Kujo’s neck.

He was much more than just her companion and her best friend, but he was also the one thing that could keep her grounded no matter what, and he always has been since the beginning.

He was there to let her know everything was going to be okay.

She let out a shaky breath and hid her face in his thick tufts of brown fur at the base of his neck.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Hours she spent, sat there on the floor with Kujo in her lap. She spread her fingers through his fur, but her mind wasn’t there. She was utterly exhausted; her head was pounding, splitting, and she could feel the nausea rising up her throat.

She didn’t get the chance to eat and now all she wanted were some pain killers and more water, without any mental capacity to find the strength to get up and get it.

Kujo was patient, though, and hadn’t moved a muscle those couple of hours, allowing her to calm herself, to find comfort in him.

There was a knock on the door, first muffled and barely audible, and she didn’t respond. Neither did Kujo, prompting her to ignore it.

It came again.

And again.

It became louder and more frantic, and for a moment she could have sworn she even heard her name behind the door.

Finally, the door swung open, and Scott stood in the open doorway with obvious concern in his eyes. His brown eyes landed on her first, barely responsive on the floor, then to the blood splattered at his feet. He had wondered why William never came back to work, but now he could see that something horrible had happened.

Kujo was still very much alert, jaw covered with dried blood, but he made no response to Scott entering the home—merely watched with vigilant eyes.

Scott didn’t know what exactly happened, but he could tell Kujo had done his job.

“Good boy.”

Kujo thumped his tail against the floor and finally tore his body away from Gemma. Scott made his way forward, but her eyes were distant, as if she weren’t seeing him at all.

“Hey, Gemma,” he said gently, “I was worried, so I got off of work a little early. Can you tell me what happened?”

For the first time, Gemma responded, firmly shaking her head.

“Alright, that’s fine. Are you hurting anywhere? Your head?”

It took her a moment, and she slowly nodded her head.

“Do you want help?”

She nodded again.

“Alright, I’ll be careful, then.”

He let his hand linger against her arm, careful not to startle her in the current state she was in. In that moment, he was thankful his years spent helping his sister with her episodes had prepared him for this.

He scooped her up into his arms, allowing her to rest herself against his chest as he carried her over to the couch. As he set her back down, she finally seemed to see him. He never appreciated the look of familiarity so much.

“How…did you get my address?” she asked slowly.

“I, uh… may have gotten it from Sarah. Told her I was gonna check up on you. Do you need anything?”

“Just water.”

“How about food? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“I can order take out for you. Would that be better.”

She nodded.

“Alright, then. I’ll get on that—” Before he could get to the phone, her head came up to grasp his sleeve, her eyes pleading with him.

“Please stay. I don’t want to be left alone tonight—”

He smiled, gently tearing her hand from his sleeve and held it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

Anything she wanted.

. . .

After calling in for a delivery, Scott was diligent in cleaning up William’s mess, washing the blood off of the floor and off of Kujo’s mouth the best he could, and Gemma couldn’t have been more thankful. She wouldn’t have been able to do it herself.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asked her, setting his now empty box onto the coffee table. She nodded, teeth crunching into a crab rangoon.

“Yeah… thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

They fell silent. She ate slowly, taking small bites from the rangoon in her hands.

“William… he—” she started, and Scott observed her carefully. “he… had Kujo on edge the second he came in. But it’s my fault, I—William hugged me and I shouldn’t have freaked out, because I set Kujo off and—”

“Gemma,” he spoke firmly, laying his hand against her forearm. “None of what happened is your fault. Maybe Kujo shouldn’t have bit William, but he was protecting you. He saw William as a threat to you. That is not your fault.”

“But—”

“Kujo isn’t aggressive towards just anyone. I’ve never met him and he let me bathe him. He’s perfectly trained to do what he is supposed to and if William knows any better, he’s not going to go to the police.”

She let his words sink in. His touch was comforting, and she found herself reaching for more, laying her other hand over his.

“Can I… tell you something? Kind of personal and gross?’ Scott should know after seeing her and helping her. He deserved to know why everything had happened.

“You can tell me anything. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

She wasn’t even sure where to begin.

“My parents divorced when I was seven. They had shared custody, and so I stayed with my mom half of the week, and my dad the other. My mom was always a little crazy and I guess I got used to it, but my dad… my dad started acting different.”

Scott already had an idea the direction this was going, and he already felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. “What kind of different?”

“It… it started off with compliments. Then he would get me expensive gifts. Forcefully hugging and kissing me. He started making me sleep with him in his bed.” She felt gross. She could still feel his hands on her, and she couldn’t make eye contact with Scott without feeling disgusting and shameful. “On my eighth birthday, he… he raped me.”

“Gemma—”

“It continued for years, from the time I was eight until I was twelve. Some… sometimes I—I can still feel his hands touching me. William, he—he reminds me of my dad—’

She wasn't ready to talk about it, and he knew from the way her voice quivered and the tone of her voice—she was becoming frantic and panic-stricken. She would throw herself into another episode if he didn't do something. 

“Gemma, look at me,” Scott said sternly, and his hand cupped the side of her face to turn her head towards him. Her eyes were watery, and her face red with shame. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here for you and I will help you through this, whenever you need me.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks, and Scott swiftly wiped them away with his thumb. Her breathing was labored, coming out in short breaths. 

He hated seeing her like this, and despite the fact they hadn't known each other for very long, he wanted to protect her with everything he had—and that, he would do. 

"I'm sorry," Gemma croaked out a sob, "I shouldn't have said anything—"

"Don't be sorry," he was quick to shush her, watching her break in his own hands. Her tears soaked the palms of his hands and he still tried restlessly to dry her reddened cheeks. 

She didn't deserve any of this. 

“Breathe, Gemma. Don't get yourself too worked up. It will be okay."

Her eyes fluttered shut in silent agreement, and her hands came up to rest against his own against the sides of her face. 

"I'm glad you told me," he continued, "and as long as I'm around, I won't let him lay his hands on you."

William would have to kill him before he let William have anything to do with Gemma.

He would make sure of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly TW. Also CW: mentions of sexual activity and violence.

_The metal door slammed shut behind her. Gasping—her chest tight and eyes wet with tears—as she sank to the dirty floor, her knees pulled tight to her chest. The metal was cold against her clothed back and she knew on the other side of that door, kids her age were having fun, including her two older siblings._

_She could still hear her older brother’s annoyed voice when she asked where their friend has been, as he told her to go and play with someone else._

_She could still hear her father’s voice when he yelled at her for getting too close to the Fredbear animatronic, as it sat in a heap offstage in the back room._

_Then there was Sammy, too busy playing with his new friends to want to include her._

_She missed her friend dearly. She hasn’t seen her since summer, and she was beginning to worry. It made her chest twist that much tighter. If only she were still here._

_It was a dreary rainy day, with dark clouds overhanging the sky and chilling the already cool fall air. The roof over the diner provided cover from the rain, just as the alley provided the cover she needed to cry to her heart’s content. She didn’t need to hold it in anymore._

_She really did try to hold it in._

_But the more she tried, the harder her chest would twist painfully, like a knife slamming into her chest. And as she sat on the cold, wet ground, the pain came forth from her throat in a silent scream, muffled sobs wracking her chest. The pain was immeasurable—a pain even too great for her small, 5-year-old body to handle._

_“Charlie.”_

_A familiar voice spoke her name, smooth and deep with a tired and lazy drawl that made the slight twinge of his British accent that much more charming; all of once, the world seemed to freeze, and she lifted her head slowly, craning her neck up to see the man looming over her with an eerie yet, charming smile on his face. Between his fingers was a cigarette, and he lifted the butt to his lips and took a long drag of smoke—long grey wisps hung in the air, curling and dancing around others before he tossed it onto the ground, where it would lay forgotten. "What's the matter?"_

_She sniffled, wiping the wetness from her eyes. She went with the simplest answer. "Daddy got mad at me," she replied, "for getting too close to the animatronics."_

_A strange look flashed across his face only for a moment. Slowly, he sank to the ground, bent at the knees and his hand caressed the crown of her head, slowly drifting down to cup her cheek to swipe away stray tears. “Not to worry, love,” he said, “he’s only concerned about your safety is all. They have been acting quite unusual lately. You remember what happened to Elizabeth and Cassidy, don't you?”_

_She nodded her head._

_“He won't be mad at you for too long," he reassured, and in spite of his attempts of reassurance, his words were bitter. This time, it was by his hand her tears—her sorrows—were wiped away. Not by Henry, but **him**. _

_"You think so?"_

_There was a pause, and he seemed to fall into his own inner thoughts. Distracted eyes trailed from her pretty brown eyes, down her tear-stained cheeks and finally, down to her slender neck._

_Henry didn't deserve her, he thought—and he could rip her away from Henry so effortlessly. His hand would fit so deliciously over her throat._

_"I know so." Down his hand moved again, slipping down to the side of her neck._

_"Mr. Afton?" Slowly, his hand crept across the base of her neck, and his fingers shivered against the side of her throat_

_“After all, he doesn’t deserve a treasure as sweet as you,” he uttered, “why is the world so cruel to give him everything I deserve?” His grip suddenly tightened, taking her breath away and crushing her throat. Tiny hands clawed, ripped and tore at his hands and arms but to no avail; his face remained still and stoic despite her strife—not even a twitch of a smile—squeezing tighter and tighter until she heard a 'pop'. Her eyes became hazy, becoming darker and darker, the calm look on his face slowly fading in and out. Her limbs fell slack, and the world faded. The last thing she saw was the color purple._

-Sunday afternoon, 1987-

_“After all, he doesn’t deserve a treasure as sweet as you… why is the world so cruel to give him everything I deserve?”_

A hand tightened over her throat, taking her breath away and crushing her throat. Her hands rushed to her slender neck—where she could still feel the phantom touches of his hand crushing her, like tendrils around her neck—only to find nothing there but her skin sticky with sweat. She took a shuddering breath and her breath stopped short; her lungs burned and she turned over, sputtering, gasping, and coughing—saliva spewed from her choking mouth, and her stomach turned and contracted violently.

She hadn’t had a nightmare in some time, especially not one so vivid. That touch and that voice had been achingly familiar, but nothing she could place her finger on as her recollection of her dream drew further and further, and she couldn’t help but think, perhaps it meant something?

But no, that was silly. Dreams don’t mean anything—they just pull random thoughts and images from your subconscious. She had just been paranoid over the events that had unfolded yesterday afternoon.

Then again, she used to think ghosts weren’t real. Was it really a reach to think that maybe, her dream did mean something?

Finally regaining her breath, Gemma sat back against her bed, weary eyes looking around the dark room.

The Fredbear and Spring Bonnie plushies still sat on the shelf at her bedside. Their eyes watched her, and where she normally would have found the toys cute, something about it felt mocking. William had been the one to gift them to her, and so the once innocent gazes of the toys now felt debauched.

Kujo habitually slept at her feet on her bed, and yet he wasn’t there, having left bits of stray shepherd fur—but her bedroom door was cracked open, telling her perhaps he had found his way out.

When had she even gone to bed last night? If she were being truthful, she didn’t remember much of yesterday. She remembered Scott coming over. He cleaned up the blood, got food… and he allowed her to confide her fears in him.

And fuck, was she mortified.

She couldn’t believe she actually told him all of that.

From her throat came a long groan; her face burned hot and all she wanted to do was hide under the covers and disappear.

She didn’t want to show her face to Scott ever again.

What would he think of her now?

Would he think she was easy?

Would he think she was unlovable?

Maybe she was.

Why was she so stupid? He wasn’t going to want to come around her now that he knew. Any semblance of a relationship, utterly shattered, and she was left to pick up the broken pieces yet again.

The sound of barking startled her from her self-loathing, splitting her head even as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the pain to go away.

Maybe if she wished hard enough, she could will away the emotional pain, too.

“Kujo, be quiet,” she called out pathetically, but it seemed his barking only got louder, and his heavy paws scratched at the front door, as if to grab her attention.

Begrudgingly, she pulled herself out of bed in spite of the incessant throbbing in her head. The living room was empty, but she hadn’t expected anything less. To her surprise though, it was clean, as if Scott had just picked up and left.

And yet again, should she have expected anything else? Of course he was gone. He likely wanted nothing to do with her now.

Who was she to think that maybe, someone would ever want to be with her? With someone who was broken.

Kujo stood alert at the door and spared her a glance, only silencing himself for a moment in her presence before he started barking again, the sound loud and grating on her ears.

“Kujo—"

The doorknob jiggled and Gemma grew quiet as she backed away from the door. The back of her knees impacted with the coffee table and the door swung open. Kujo jumped up, tail swinging back and forth and on the other side of the door stood Scott, freshly dressed with several shopping bags slung over his arms.

“Hey there, buddy.” Scott didn’t notice her at first, but he was grinning ear-to-ear at the sight of an equally excited guard dog. It wasn’t until he finally kicked the door shut did his eyes finally land on her retreating form, but his smile didn’t even falter—it was like the sun that shined over the darkness and chased all of the demons away. “Hey, Gemma,” he finally greeted her, “I uh… remember that date?”

Oh no, was he going to cancel on her now?

“—Well, since you got a concussion, I was thinking instead of going out, maybe I’d bring it here, to you.”

W _ait, what?_

He continued, “I have a great recipe from my sister, and I was gonna cook it for you but uh… I couldn’t help but notice the lack of ingredients in your kitchen. So, I, uh… dropped by the store and picked up some things—and more. Hope you don’t mind.”

Relief washed over her like a splash of cool water. “You… didn’t have to do that,” She replied tentatively, her clammy hands wringing together. The stock-still look of apprehension didn’t quite match what she felt inside— she hadn’t driven him away. He was here, just like he said he would be—and Scott took notice, eyebrows knitting close together as he watched her with a look of concern.

“Are you okay? Your head doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No… uh—I just woke up. My head hurts a little but… I’ll be fine.”

Scott didn’t seem like he bought it, even if it wasn’t in any sense far from the truth.

“Make sure you take some pain killers then, alright?”

She nodded.

“Good,” Scott concluded with a firm nod. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get you some water. These bags are getting heavy.”

“How do you feel about lemon garlic shrimp?”

“Never had it.” Gemma sifted through the bags Scott ungracefully dropped onto the kitchen counters. Her kitchen space was relatively small, as was her counter space. There was barely enough room for the groceries, for the required ingredients, and other things. Regardless, they were able to make it work.

Scott stood at the stovetop with a slip of crinkled notepaper, unfolded over the countertop. “Good, me neither. My sister says Matthew loves it though. That kid can be hard to please.”

The last two grocery bags. He’d brought back so much stuff, she worried it would go bad before she could use it all.

“So much stuff” meaning kitchen essentials—eggs, bread, rice, milk, canned fish, cooking oil, salt and pepper, etc., on top of other specific things he bought for the shrimp and—in the last two bags—three tubs of ice cream: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.

“Scott,” she started, her voice playfully stern. “Can you tell me why you got three tubs of ice cream?”

Scott paused, eyes searching her as if wracking his brain for an answer. “Because why not?” He chuckled. “I’m joking. I was going to only get one, but I didn’t know what your favorite flavor was, so… I got three of the safest ones.”

“Well, you won,” she said, “it’s strawberry.”

“Lame,” Scott retorted. “Chocolate is the superior flavor.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

They laughed together, mirthfully, freely, and unrestrained.

It felt nice to feel so comfortable with someone.

When the laughter died down, they were silent—a comfortable silence with only the sizzling and popping of the skillet there to fill the silence, and Gemma finished putting away the last of the groceries.

“So, Gemma—” Scott finally spoke, “I know you mentioned that your finals are this week. What are you planning on doing after you graduate?”

There was a specific plan she had in mind.

One of the first things being to get a place out of state. She wanted to leave her old life behind, completely and totally.

She wanted to erase her parents’ existence from her life.

“I want to go to university to be a social worker,” she answered. “I want to… help children that are—or were—in my shoes.”

Scott was quiet a moment, nodding his head almost solemnly. “Makes sense. You don’t want other kids to go through what you did.”

The fell silent again, though this time a tense silence.

She hated herself for telling Scott.

He didn’t need to know what had happened.

She turned to lean against the counter, her arms folded over her chest and Scott moved away from the stovetop to stand in front of her, bringing up a hand to grasp her chin gently between two fingers.

“Do you remember what I said? About being here for you, whenever you need me?”

She stood frozen, her face burning a brilliant red and her lips quivered with anticipation. “Yeah.”

He leaned in close—close enough their breaths melded together and their foreheads were pressed together, and it was exhilarating; her eyes stole glances of his lips just within reach. His hand fell away from her chin, instead to hold her head in his hands much like he had done just last night.

For Scott, it was now or never.

“Let me be there with you.”

Her body grew hotter than the fires his words ignited within her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to see you fulfill your dreams. I want to be there every step of the way.”

“Scott—”

His eyes slid shut and he took a deep, trembling breath. “Hit me if I’m going too far.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond; the moment the last syllable left his lips, they brushed against hers and instantly, her eyes fluttered shut and she melted into him without a second thought.

It was odd really, how she avoided relationships for so long, until Scott came along.

Not all men were bad or creepy, she knew, but she couldn’t help the paranoid delusions her mother put into her head.

Regardless, Scott made her feel different. He was bright and warm like the sun, and she felt the most comfortable with him than anyone else.

He didn’t remind her of all the bad things that happened in her life; not in the same way that William did.

She didn’t stop him, even as their kiss turned hot, fiery, passionate, and demanding. His hands drifted down to her hips and his body pinned hers against the counter—the food had been forgotten as the world fell away around them.

“Gemma,” he spoke her name when he pulled away, breath shaking, and low and husky, and Gemma found she loved the way it sounded on him. “Do you trust me? I—I don't want to hurt you... or scare you. I'm not like them—"

She didn’t even need to think to respond.

“Scott.”

He looked at her again, his face twisted with worry even as her fingers, trembling from the excitement, grazed his cheek. "I trust you."

"Thank God." Scott moved on her fast; he kissed her again, lifting her body onto the counter with ease and spread her legs wide to stand between them. "I'm going to focus all on you," Scott said between kisses. "I won't ever hurt you."

. . .

“Woah, woah, woah! Wait! What happened after that?!”

Gemma tried to suppress her smile. Her cheeks blossomed a warm pink under Sarah’s eager and expectant gaze.

The break room was empty, save for the two of them. While Gemma mentioned her weekend spent with Scott, she had purposely left out the details about William. Sarah didn’t need to know yet.

But obviously, Sarah demanded to know more; Gemma, on the other hand, didn’t know why it was such a big deal.

“We went to my room and burned the shrimp,” Gemma responded with an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, and her hands smoothed out her dress in front of the mirror.

“Gemma, hun, just say you fucked.”

Suddenly Gemma felt awkward, and the once pink blush seared through her cheeks and made her feel as though her face was on fire. “I guess, but you don’t have to be so crude about it.”

“Whatever. And then what? Were you at least protected?”

“Oh my God—yes, Sarah, he had condoms in his wallet.”

"Oh, girl, he came prepared."

"Sarah!"

“Hey, I was just making sure!”

“Ugh! Can we talk about something else other than me and Scott’s sex life?”

“Alright, fine,” Sarah surrendered with a sigh. “How about your exam? How did it go?”

Gemma shrugged. “I think it went well. Today was just my exam for Language Arts and Chemistry. Tomorrow, History and Algebra.”

“Ugh, good luck with that.” Sarah stood from the metal chair and came to join Gemma’s side in the mirror. She gave herself a once over, and then looked at Gemma with a look of offense.

“Why do you get to look so good in this dress and I look so.., blah?”

Gemma’s arms wrapped around her stomach again. “What do you mean?”

“It fits you perfectly! Plus, you have curves and it looks good on you. This dress makes me look like a twig. Makes me want to gain weight again.”

Gemma shrugged. “I don’t think so… I thought it made me look fat. I think it looks good on you.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks. By the way, you shouldn’t hide yourself like that, you know? It will make you feel more self-conscious.”

With hesitance, slowly Gemma lowered her arms.

“And,” Sarah continued, “you have a cute body too.”

“Please never say that again.”

“What? I can’t check out my best friend?”

_She isn’t your friend. She knows nothing about you._

_You’ll be moving away soon anyway. You’ll never see her again._

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“I was just fucking with you,” Sarah laughed, nudging Gemma in her side. “Don’t be so uptight. C’mon, let’s get to work, alright?”

“After you.”

. . .

Finally, closing time. Gemma was ready for this week to be over with. Luckily, she was no longer alone—William had her too on edge after what he tried to pull.

For now, Scott wanted to take her home after work, just in case, he said.

Gemma still had yet to change out of her uniform, although feeling much more confident in it than she had felt the last couple of days.

Sometimes, she was glad to have Sarah around.

“Hey, girl,” Sarah greeted her as she walked up to the counter—her hair was let down, dressed casually in her jeans and a plain tshirt. “Marcus and I are heading out. Remember to lock up when you leave, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Sarah handed over a set of keys, and Gemma took them hesitantly.

“Oh, and William wants to see you in the security office, by the way,” Sarah said nonchalantly—meanwhile, Gemma froze.

“Wh-what does he want?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. Go see him before you lock up, it could be something important.”

Something important.. was it about Kujo? The dog bite?

Fuck, what if Kujo was about to be put down and it was all her fault?

“Oh… okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Love you!”

Gemma didn’t respond, fiddling with the jingling keys in her hand as Sarah left through the front door.

It was almost like her mind wanted her to believe he had some kind of more malicious intent. Really, she was terrified of losing Kujo.

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

The sight of her over the security cameras alone was enough to fuel the flames of rage within him.

He knew what happened—he had watched as Gemma’s back arched and her fingers raked down Scott’s back; and he listened to every cry and moan of Scott’s name rather than his own—every beg and plead that fell from her pretty lips.

Her face twisted with pleasure and her needy moans—they were delicious to listen to, and they were perfect to help his fantasies run wild.

But she was supposed to be moaning for him, not for Scott.

It was supposed to have been him. He wanted her. No one else was allowed to have her.

No one else had the right to even look at her. To touch her.

She was all his. His to break.

And William had felt this way for an agonizingly long time.

And he wanted her to pay for all the pain she put him through—for choosing someone like Scott.

It should have been him.

And he would make sure that, in the end, she knew she belonged to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape(semi-explicit/semi-implicit?). If you don't want to read, skip to notes.

Clammy hands clutched at the pale-yellow dress hanging off of her thighs—when she released them, it was like she can’t figure out what to do with them. They grabbed, unclasped, then grabbed again; the dress bunched and wrinkled in her hands and all she could think of is why she shouldn’t be doing this.

Their last encounter, he had felt _dangerous_. She couldn’t forget the look on his face—so enraged and yet also so impossibly calm while Kujo ripped at the flesh of his leg.

Maybe he _was_ dangerous.

But… she didn’t know, and she couldn’t truly know for sure. She didn’t have anything else to go off of, aside from her own feelings.

But what reason was there for William to request her help?

It couldn’t be help with the animatronics—he and Scott were the only ones with any sort of knowledge on them. She wasn’t tech savvy, unlike Scott.

Or maybe he really did need help… but if something needed to be fixed, why would Scott have the day off? Why would William wait until closing to call her in?

Maybe he wanted to tell her was taking her to court.

She had the “Beware of Dog” sign for this very reason, but she wondered just how well that would do in court when Kujo very well could have killed William that day.

It was all too much to think about.

When she got there, William was there—in the security office with an odd box in his hand. She knew it had to be some kind of animatronic part; he seemed so focused on it, those thinly pressed lips and furrowed brows were an odd sight to come by with someone as dramatic as William.

When he saw her, his face instantly lit up and he set the box onto the desk.

Okay, so it didn’t seem like he was looking to tell her some grave news, like she anticipated. In fact, he even looked… happy to see her.

Odd, after what happened.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.” He stood from his chair and grabbed onto the keys dangling from his belt.

“What do you need me for?” She asked timidly—his face blanked; it was as if she could see the gears turning in his head in search for an answer “It’s… after closing. Scott should be picking me up soon—”

“I’ll show you when we get there. We’ll be going backstage. Come along, Love.”

William walked around the desk, and she couldn’t help but notice the limp in his leg as he walked past her.

She didn’t like this, not at all. This reeked of lies and deceit. He was lying to her, and yet she still followed after him, giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

“How’s your leg?” She blurted out, eyes drifting down to look at his leg. She couldn’t see the damage under the pants of his uniform, but the limp in his step told her it was still rather painful.

“Still hurts,” He answer bluntly at first, “that dog of yours has quite the set of teeth on him.”

“Yeah—I’m… I’m sorry—”

“Not to worry—I told you these things sort themselves out. My leg will be healed up in a matter of time.”

“Did you at least go to the hospital?”

“No. Too much trouble.”

“You don’t think it needs stitches?”

“If it did, I would do it myself.”

Did he just not like going to the doctor? What if it got infected?

“But,” He continued, “Your concern is… appreciated.”

If she were honest, those were probably the most sincere words he ever said to her.

“Ah, here we are.”

William used the keys attached to his belt to unlock the metal door and pushed it open. The room was obviously dark, with only the dim light from backstage to illuminate the room. From the other side of the door, she could see old, broken down arcade games and a few shelves and a metal table on the far-left side of the room. Bonnie and Freddy heads, a couple of arms, and a plethora of other animatronic part sat atop the shelves, and on the table below was a single, endoskeleton arm.

On the right side, however, was an old friend; the Golden Bonnie suit sat hunched over on the floor, folded in on itself and withered from age.

It really was like seeing an old friend again, only instead of seeing him up on stage under the bright stage lights, he was decrepit, hidden away in the darkness behind the stage.

“After you, Love.”

Gemma glanced at him, standing off the to the side and holding the door open expectantly, waiting.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of the dark but rather, being alone with William in the dark.

She stepped into the room, past the metal threshold and William was soon to follow; the door shut behind him, enveloping the room into total darkness.

“William?” his name came out in a pathetic whimper, and her arms wrapped tight around her waist in a protective hold.

It was this kind of darkness she didn’t like—unable to see in front of her, and unable to see William.

It was a kind of vulnerability she despised. The kind she was terrified of because he could do literally anything to her—

When she took a step back, her back collided with his chest and his arm quickly wound tight around her midsection, bracing her body against his.

“Careful, Love,” he said, his voice deep and quiet against her ear. She could feel his breath, fanning across her face and making her spine shiver. “It’s quite dark in here. Wouldn’t want you to fall and injure that pretty head of yours again, would we?”

She agreed timidly with a slow shake of her head, but the only thing consuming her thoughts, was her begging to let her go.

_Please let me go, please let me go—_

“But no need to worry. I’ve brought a flashlight with me.” She could feel him shuffling behind her, reaching for his belt in his hip and suddenly, the space in front of them illuminated, cutting through the darkness with a solid, white beam of bright light.

For a fleeting moment, she felt relief. Relief because she could finally see. She could see William, and maybe he would finally let go of her. They could get to whatever it was he needed her for, and get out.

“You know, I feel a little betrayed,” William spoke; he sounded hurt, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You went behind my back and let Scott deflower you, did you?”

“Th-that… that—” Gemma’s face turned hot, her voice meek and quiet—sheepish and almost afraid. “That’s none of your business. Can you just tell me what you need me here for?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Love. I don’t appreciate you going behind my back after I warned you to stay clear.” The arm around her waist tightened. “Here, no one will bother us. Just a precaution, in case that boy comes searching for you.”

“W-William—?”

He used his hold on her waist to turn her around. “This time, I won’t be so gentle with you. Maybe once this is over, you’ll know your place.” Without missing a beat, he captured her lips in a stolen kiss.

It happened so suddenly and so quickly, and she couldn’t keep up with him. The suddenness of the kiss pulled a surprised moan from the back of her throat, and her stomach twisted in utter disgust—just the taste of his mouth, the way he held her, made her want to vomit.

He lured her in, and she didn’t even give it a second thought.

She had always wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt despite her fears of him.

Not anymore—now, she knew she was right to be afraid of him. She was right to be cautious around him.

And yet, she let herself be caught in his web.

She resisted, planting her hands firmly against his chest, pushing and fighting against him; his hand settled on her hip, tight with aggression while the hand holding the flashlight came down to rest against the small of her back, anchoring her body to his.

It felt as if he were a cement wall. Persistent and unwavering.

Scott was the only man she could think about—the man who had promised her he would never let William touch her. The only man she felt she could be vulnerable around, and the only man she had ever been willing to give herself to.

The man who accepted her whole-heartedly.

Tears stung her eyes and fell down her cheeks, and for a moment William relented in his kiss, his free hand coming up to cup her tear-stained cheek.

“Don’t cry, Love,” he cooed, “You’re safer here by my side than you would be anywhere else.” His words were a promise—although to others, it may seem like a promise to protect her, in reality, it was a promise to hurt her. To ruin her. To break her and meld her, and to use her over and over again. “So be a good girl and give in to me.”

It wasn’t an innocent promise, but a promise filled with depravity.

_“Be a good girl for daddy.”_

_“If you stop fighting, I promise to make it hurt less.”_

She felt like she couldn’t speak, her words forming a lump in her throat that just wouldn’t go away. It threatened to burst—an urge she forced herself to stuff down.

This time, she didn’t fight, even as William pushed her back against the cold, metal table; the flashlight he was holding laid against the surface by her head and left forgotten. She didn’t fight, even as he began to fumble clumsily with the belt on his uniform.

But the tears wouldn’t stop. The were relentless, dripping down the sides of her face and wetting her ears and her hair.

“Please don’t,” she sniveled, her voice small and confused, but most of all, terrified. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, daddy, I don’t want it. It hurts—”

Her small, broken voice put him at a standstill. Not out of pity for her or even regret, but anger.

Pure, unadulterated rage.

His teeth ground together almost painfully.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be the first, but he could work with that. After all, the broken and vulnerable were always the easiest to control.

He let out a sharp breath. “Look at me, Gemma.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes again to be met with William’s—grey eyes she once would have found beautiful regardless of their initial coldness, narrowed with anger and yet his pupils blown wide with desire.

She felt like a child again, trembling and terrified and it was as if William didn’t notice—or he was reveling in it. The feeling grew—her chest tightened and her stomach knotted.

“I’m not him. I’m not your father.”

He may as well have been. To her, it didn’t make much of a difference.

Taking what dignity she had left, despite how she begged.

To her, they were no different.

“I’m William. Remember that.”

His hand slid up her thigh and between her legs.

“You’re enjoying this. So wet for me. It’s cute.” He tugged the fabric down her legs. “You want this.”

Was she enjoying this? She didn’t feel like she was.

She didn’t want her body to react the way it was, but maybe she did like it.

A moan passed her closed lips as he pushed against her and she laid her head back against the metal surface in submission, and she shook her head. It was all she could think to do when she could hardly think at all.

“Now, say my name,” his command was rough, face etched with amusement at her defeat. “Say it.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “William—”

“That’s it,” He praised her, and his lips found hers again in another sloppy kiss. “You’re being so good.”

She hated herself. How could be enjoy this?

“Don’t you see how much you need me, Love? How well we fit together?”

 _Like hell we do_.

“You want this so much. I’m the only one who can satisfy you.”

_No._

“I love you.”

_This isn’t love… is it?_

“Say it.”

She didn’t want to.

She didn’t love him.

She loved Scott.

And yet here she was, betraying him.

“Say it, Gemma,” William repeated—his voice wavered as he neared his end, or what she hoped would be. “Maybe I’ll reward you.”

If she said it, she could get it over with. “I…” Yet the lump in her throat refused to budge. “I love you.”

He hooked an arm under her leg. Again and again, moans of pleasure fell freely from his lips.

It made her skin crawl. But what else was there for her to do, besides submit and let him take what he wanted?

“That’s it.” He growled, a sound that made her entire body stiffen and he raised his hand.

It wrapped tight around her throat. His thumbs pressed into the sides of her slender neck and suddenly she couldn’t breathe, choking and clawing at his wrists, but he only squeezed tighter. 

“W-william—” She choked his name and he released the smallest bit of pressure, enough to allow her to drink in a gasp of air.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” He rasped, closing his hand around her throat again. “I’ll always be the only one for you. You’re all mine. Don’t you forget it.”

The way his hand wrapped around her throat, those words—they were reminiscent of… something. Had this happened before? Something like this…

She couldn’t speak—couldn’t beg for him to stop, or even cry in her submission if she wanted to. His hands wrapped so tight around her throat, if he did it any harder, she was sure he would totally crush her throat.

Her eyes slid closed. She could feel her mind slowly fading, her head throbbing—

William stilled, and his hands finally let go of her throat. Gemma took in a sharp gasp of air.

William spilled out onto the floor beneath them, although Gemma could feel a familiar sticky wetness between her legs, and all she could do was lie there and cry.

She was used. Broken. Disgusting.

She betrayed Scott. How was she supposed to tell him?

William let out a sigh, and she heard the jingle of his belt as he stuffed himself back into his pants. “You’re free to go now, Love. Though, you may want to make it quick. This place gets… lively, at night.”

She couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this chapter was super hard to write, and even more difficult to decide if it should be included or not. I ultimately decided to include it as an optional read, but it is still very much an important part of the story for both characters.  
> William is trying to cement control over her, and Gemma is realizing something important here--that is was William she was seeing in her dream, and that he's done something very wrong.  
> She's making connections and all will be figured out in time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, fluffy and angsty bc the last chapter was pretty triggering for me

She wasn’t sure if she should tell him.

She wasn’t sure if she _could_ tell him.

Would he be upset with her? Surely, Scott wasn’t that kind of guy. He wouldn’t blame her for something William did to her…

Right?

“A long day, huh?” Scott’s voice broke the silence, and Gemma tore her gaze so fixed on the window to look at him. His smile was gentle, full of adoration.

In the short amount of time they’d known each other, he had become her sun—bright and harsh, yet warm and hopeful. His smile brought the same feeling of hope and relief that one would feel after switching on a light when they’re afraid of the dark.

Similarly, Scott was her light when she became afraid of the dark.

But then there was her.

She was a parasite. He gave and she took, but what did she have to give him besides more problems?

It wasn’t just William, was it? She let him do that. She let him have his way and didn’t even fight.

She had betrayed Scott.

If he got mad, she deserved every bit of that anger.

She didn’t deserve his kindness. His love. She never did.

It was never hers to begin with, was it?

She couldn’t hold eye contact for very long. “Yeah.” Her voice was quiet—defeated.

Her arms wrapped tight around her body; she wanted to wave her arms, desperate for something—or someone—to cling to for her life, and instead the crashing and receding waves would drag her back and into a sea of abysmal darkness.

She didn’t fight it—rather, she welcomed it.

“Gemma, what’s wrong?”

Her bottom lip quivered. She pressed her lips and she tasted the saltiness of tears that dripped down her face. She couldn’t speak, her voice held hostage by the tightening of her throat and only releasing a breathy sigh.

She couldn’t hide it from him for very long.

“Did something happen at work today?”

She nodded her head.

“Was it… it doesn’t have anything to do with William, does it?”

_Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him._

No, she had to. He deserved better. He had the right to know.

“Wi-William, he… he—” Her voice shivered with the weight of her guilt. “It’s my fault, pl-please don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry—"

The car jerked to a stop on the side of the road; Gemma braced her hands against the dashboard and she bowed her head, preparing for him to be angry. For him to yell at her, beat her—hell, anything.

_Here it comes. He’s pissed—_

“Gemma.”

His hand touched her back and she recoiled. But his touch was as gentle as the sound of his voice, and she relaxed under him.

“What did he do to you?”

And Scott, like her sun, was also her savior, pulling her up out of the water for her first breath of air.

“I… I’m so… so disgusted with myself,” she finally answered, tearfully, “Wi-William, he… he told me he… he said he needed me—”

She tried to hold it in, but her tears came crashing against the dam and it shattered; this time, she couldn’t contain the weight of her emotions. She screamed and wailed, and when she struck her head, Scott ripped her hand away by her wrist and pulled her into the driver’s seat, her legs straddling his lap.

It was as if Scott was preparing for the worst, his hand gripping her wrist.

She continued, “He t-took me to a… a room backs-stage—” Just thinking about it, that feeling of disgust crawled up her throat, and her cheeks burned with shame. “It happened so fast and I couldn’t push him off of me—and he… he told me I—I liked it. I… I didn’t feel like I was b-but… but maybe?”

“No, Gemma,” His firm voice answered, “None of that was your fault.” A calloused thumb rested against the softness of her cheek and gently wiped away the tears. “And you didn’t do anything to deserve it. He’s a piece of shit and he’ll do anything to fuck with your head.” Despite his kind and gentle words, his jaw was noticeably clenched, tightly. He was livid, although perhaps not at her. “I’m so sorry he put you through that.”

_“Why is the world so cruel to give him everything I deserve?”_

_“He doesn’t deserve you… You’re all mine, Don’t you forget it.”_

“I’m not going to let him touch you again. I mean it this time.”

“It’s not your fault, either,” Gemma responded softly, lying her head onto his shoulder.

“Yeah… I know. But I made a promise to you last time. And I don’t think you should work there anymore. At least, not while he’s working. Who knows, maybe I’ll apply for the nightshift.”

_"The last thing we want to do is to hurt you. But if you stand in the way… you are no better than the enemy.”_

If Scott applied for the night shift, he would die. She couldn’t let him go—no, she wouldn’t.

“No, you have to stay where you are—”

“Let’s talk about this later. For now, let’s get you home, alright? Maybe get you into a hot bath or something—just… don’t scrub too hard.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit angsty, this one  
> CW and TW: mentions and allusions to rape/abuse
> 
> **edited man i had to rewrite the entire chapter lmfao

How was she supposed to tell him no?

How was she supposed to tell him if he went, he would be killed?

She wished she never got caught up in this. How did all of this even happen.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t help them, stay out of the way but also keep Scott from being murdered, lest she become the enemy.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror betrayed her. Even after a hot bath, she looked like a mess. The lines on her face looked a little deeper, and eyebags a little darker. Her skin was red from scrubbing her skin, but noticeably paler, as if it had lost its life. Her brown hair hung over her shoulder in wet tangles that she didn’t want to bother brushing out.

Her trembling hands rested against the cool, ceramic sink.

“ _Don’t you see how much you need me, Love? How well we fit together?”_

She gripped the sides of the sink. She could feel the bile rising in her spasming throat even as she heaved and gagged over the bowl of the sink, nothing came up.

She couldn’t forget the sound of his voice, or the way his hands gripped her throat as he pleasured himself.

S _he was disgusting._

“Gemma, are you doing okay?” Scott’s voiced echoed from the other side of the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for a while.”

She let out a sigh. She hated this. Why her? Why was all of this happening to her?

It felt as if the universe hated her—born merely to entertain God or whatever higher power may be out there, watching her suffer.

“’m fine,” she answered; she composed herself and took another glance in the mirror.

_Disgusting._

“Well, I’ll be waiting in the living room if you need me—”

It was time to tell Scott, whether she was ready or not. For his safety.

The bathroom door slowly creeped open to reveal Gemma, hastily dressed in her bedclothes and looking a little worse for wear—and yet, Scott smiled when he saw her.

“Hey there, pretty girl.”

“Can we talk?”

 _Can we talk._ The words every man loathed to hear. His smile faltered a moment—she caught the look of concern that flashes across his face, gone the moment it appeared.

“Yeah, uh—maybe let’s head to the living room first.”

Ghosts. Possessions. Murders. Killer robots seeking revenge—how was she going to explain all of this? It was absurd; not exactly believable.

_Would he believe her?_

Kujo laid on the hardwood floor in the living room. He didn’t spare her nor Scott a glance as they entered the room, his eyes glued to the kitchen archway. His ears perked up as to acknowledge their presence, and then flattened back against his head.

“He’s been like for about an hour now,” Scott said—Kujo didn’t so much as wag his tail.

She had been in the bath that long?

And more concerning—was Kujo getting sick?

God, she hoped not. She loved Kujo, and it would just be another thing to worry about on her long list of things.

They sat together on the couch and Gemma instinctively pulled her knees up to her chest. Scott’s arm came to rest over her shoulder and she fell against his side.

It was comfortable, but it didn’t quell the racing of her heart, or the way her stomach twisted in knots.

It was now or never.

“I don’t think you should take the nightshift,” she blurted. She glues her eyes to the coffee table. A phone book laid open with a familiar name circled in black pen; a number she would likely never have the guts to call again. “William works the nightshift, anyway.”

“I know that,” he answered dryly—the didn’t look at each other, but she could sense the ever-growing tension as Scott squeezed her shoulder.

“What do you plan to do, then?”

He was silent a moment, but his foot tapped against the floor as he thought.

“I just wanna talk with him—”

“No.”

“Maybe tell him to leave my girl alone. Maybe kill him. 50/50 chance. We’ll be alone, anyway, hopefully”

 _My girl._ It made her stomach flutter, and her lips twitched upwards into a small smile that quickly fell, replaced with a deep-set frown.

“You can’t do that.”

“To hell if I can’t.”

“You can’t take nightshift.”

“Why not?” He huffed. He was becoming annoyed with her. “I’m going to apply whether you want me to or not. I told you I was going to protect you—”

Fuck this.

“Goddammit—” In a fit, Gemma pushed his arm off of her shoulder and turned to face him. “You can’t take the nightshift because you will _fucking die_ , Scott!” Her voice quivered under the force of her trembling throat, threatening tears again.

Scott was the only good thing to happen in her life, aside from Kujo.

The only person she trusted.

If he died, then what?

“Gemma, you need to calm down—"

Scott was taken aback by her outburst, and not giving him a chance to speak back, Gemma continued—

“If you want to protect me so bad, _I need you here._ Killing William is not an answer.”

_Killing is never the answer._

She believed that whole-heartedly, but does she explain that to young, child spirits, vengeful and hellbent on getting revenge?

So much so, they would take it out on anyone they thought their enemy?

“I never said I _would_ , I’m just not ruling it out as a possibility. Besides, I wouldn’t give him the chance to kill me.” He was being stubborn; he side-eyed her and crossed his arms over his chest. Gemma clenched her jaw.

“Not William.”

“Who, then? If you’re not worried William is going to kill me then what are you so afraid of?”

Her mouth gaped open—she wanted to tell him, but the words refused to come out. The caught in her throat and no matter how much she urged to speak, there was nothing.

This was harder than she thought.

When she looked into Scott’s eyes, they were a storm of rage; anger and hatred burned within him, and she wasn’t sure how she could calm it—if she could.

“The—the animatronics.” Her voice went quiet as she finally choked out the works—Scott barely heard her. Kujo stood abruptly, fur standing on edge and back hunched as he growled into the kitchen. “Kujo, down.”

He acknowledged her command; he lied back down on the floor and grumbled.

“Uh—the _what_?”

“The animatronics—”

“Yeah, I heard what you said, but _what_? Sure, the animatronics was weird and creepy as fuck, but they aren’t killers. They’re for kids.”

Much harder than she thought it would be.

“The… the animatronics, th—they said—”

“Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Gemma, the animatronics can’t speak to you; they aren’t living or intelligent. They’re _fucking_ robots meant to entertain children--!”

“Fucking—stop treating me like I’m crazy and listen to me goddammit!”

Scott laughed curtly and shook his head.

“They’re possessed—”

“Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Goddammit—look, if it makes you feel any better, I can check them out for you. I can do that, remember?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, whatever. But if there’s nothing, we drop this. Completely. Got it?”

Maybe Scott had a point? This did seem a little crazy, but she could swear she heard them talking—saw them moving and it was hard to forget Foxy’s voice against her ear, his robotic hand over her mouth—

“O-okay.”

“Good.”

The silence that fell between them was deafening.

She knew she couldn’t have expected him to believe her. She had to see it to believe it herself.

“I’m starting to worry, Gemma. First William, now this?”

God, she really didn’t deserve him. She was just causing him more problems and making him worry.

“Maybe you need to rest. You’ve just been through some major trauma. We shouldn’t even be talking about this shit right now.”

_She was pathetic._

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that. None of this is your fault.” Scott sighed. “I really don’t want you going back there. Especially with William still working there.”

Did he think William had something to do with it?

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m still going to apply for nightshift. I’ll move in with you, work nightshift and work during the day as a Freddy Fazbear’s repairman. I want to support you, so gotta bring in the most I can.”

_Pathetic. She was such a nuisance._

“If… if you’re taking nightshift, can I at least… go with you?”

She knew it would be against the rules, but she didn’t care. She wanted to do something—anything to make sure Scott was safe.

And maybe… just maybe, they wouldn’t attack her.

They knew her. They trusted her.

Right?

“No.”

Fuck.

“I want you to focus on finishing up school, as much as you can,” He said, “How many more tests do you have to take?”

“Only one. Algebra.” Her worst subject. She should be studying for her final tomorrow, but truth be told, after all that happened, she didn’t have the mental energy to put into studying.

“Hey, that’s good. Just… try not to think too much about William, okay? How can I help take your mind off of it?”

The phone rang, bouncing off the walls and pulling them from their conversation.

Who could that be? Sarah was still working. Scott was beside her—her mother?

No, her mom wouldn’t know her number. Gemma did the most she could to separate from her.

Regardless, she was compelled to answer it.

“A scam call?” Scott suggested. 

It was important, though, she could just feel it.

She got up and made her way towards the phone. The hallway leading into the kitchen was tense even as her hand laid upon the base of the phone. Anxiety washed over her—what if it _was_ her mother?

She could just hang up. She didn’t want anything to do with her mother.

She took a deep breath and pulled the phone off of the receiver. It was quiet on the other end, but when she opened her mouth to speak, a familiar voice spoke.

“Hey, Gemma. Long time no see.”

A voice she hadn’t heard since that day.

“This is Gemma, right?”

It was deeper and a little more matured from when they were fourteen, but it was familiar, nonetheless.

“Nathan?”

“In the flesh. We haven’t spoke in a long time. What gives?” 

The tone in his voice made it obvious, although he was joking, he was still hurt, and for good reason. They had been best friends for years.

“I just—”

“Nah, it doesn’t matter. Hey, I just came back into town. I’m living with dad now. Sammy is here! Dad, too.”

“I… I didn’t know you were away.”

“Yeah, after all that happened, mom wanted Sammy and I to live with her in Washington. School just ended for us last week, so I decided I was gonna live with Dad for a while. Sammy is just here for the summer.”

“Oh, w-well that’s great—”

“Do you maybe wanna meet up and catch up? We all miss you, y’know? Dad, especially, I think. Always said you were like a daughter to him.”

“I—” This felt surreal. She didn’t think she’d ever talk to them again, much less see them.

In fact, she thought they would hate her.

She wanted to say no. She didn’t have the capacity to be with anyone other than Scott right now, not after what happened.

But she couldn’t just say no, could she? Would they hate her if she did.

“Really, you should come by. Dad is grilling steak tonight!”

“Steak!” A voice echoed in the background excitedly, undoubtedly Sammy. 

“So? Gemma?”

What was she supposed to say?

“Uh—y-yeah, sure. Uhm, is… is it okay if I bring a plus one?”

“Yeah, sure. Who is it? A boyfriend?”

“I-I guess you could say that.”

“Ah, nice! I can’t wait to meet him. Is two hours good?”

She could manage two hours. It was a bit quick for her to get her shit together, but…

“Yeah. That—that sounds good.”

“Awesome! I’ll see you then! And Gemma—”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you… a lot. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, we do. I’ll see you.”

She hung up the phone with a newfound sense of accomplishment. She finally was going to see them again, for the first time in years. Four years. It really was a new step for her.

She really missed them. Sammy and Charlie, Nathan, and even Henry—

Henry, especially. He was the father figure she never had. The man who made her realize the way her father treated her wasn’t normal, wasn’t _okay_.

After Charlie died, her mother ripped her away from them. She was isolated from then on—homeschooled, unable to leave the house for even simple things. No contact with the outside world, aside from her late grandparents.

Today, she really didn’t feel like doing anything. She didn’t have the energy to be social, especially after her encounter with William, but she figured… it was now or never.

After all, she hasn’t seen them for four years.

“Who was that?” Scott asked.

“An old friend. Nathan Emily—his father used to own Fredbear’s before it shut down.”

“Oh shit, you mean that place that was closed down because of those kids?”

 _Those kids_? Surely, he was referring to Cassidy and Charlie.

“Uhm, yeah, they were both… friends.” If she could even call them that. Charlie was five at the time, a good 9 years younger, and Cassidy—if she had to guess, maybe ten.

“Anyway—” Gemma continued, “they invited us over. You fine with that? I told him I’d be there in two hours.”

“I’m fine with going, but… are you? I don’t want you pushing yourself too much.”

“Yeah... yeah, I’ll be fine.”

. . .

She was _not_ fine.

She sat on the cool tile of the bathroom—hair dried and dressed, and just before they were supposed to leave, her body decided it was going to have a full-blown meltdown.

“We don’t have to go if you aren’t ready,” Scott spoke worriedly on the other side; she could hear the pads of his fingers scraping against the wood door.

“No—” She choked out—she heaved, gasped, and wheezed—she felt like she couldn’t get a breath in. “I-m fine—”

“No, Gemma, this isn’t fine.”

Her hands clutched her chest—fuck, it hurt so bad.

Was she dying?

“Can… you open the door?”

She couldn’t even manage to move right now.

“O-okay, uhm.. close your eyes for me. You can do that, right?”

She didn’t answer, but she closed her eyes.

“Now take long, deep breaths, okay? I’ll—I’ll count for you.”

“1… in.”

Deep breath in.

“Out.”

Deep breath out.

“2… in.”

Deep breath in.

“Out.

Deep breath out.

Her hands shook violently against the tile, but when she was done, her breathing was finally back to normal.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah… I’m fine now.”

Did he have panic attacks too? She wondered, how did he know just how to help her?

Now that she thought of it, why was it he seemed to always know what to say and what to do?

“Seriously, you don’t have to go. There’s always another time.”

“I… I know. But I want to.”

She was still a bit of a mess, but she trusted them. She trusted Scott and the Emily’s. After all, they would never do anything to hurt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: 06/28/2020  
> okay so i've been doing so much art for this fic i needed a place to dump it, so i made a tumblr--if you got this far, thank you for reading, and i highly suggest checking out my Tumblr as I will be posting more art, and later, some small comics of scenes that happen in this story. 
> 
> this story started out as a vent fic so i could deal with some messed up things that happened in my life, but i'm becoming more passionate about it the more time i spend with/on the characters.  
> again, thank ya'll for reading this mess of a fic. 
> 
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/raysineii


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not my strongest but it's alright  
> cw and tw as usual; mentions/allusions of rape/abuse; panic attacks, etc

She couldn’t believe it had been four years.

What had they been up to during that time? Sammy, Nathan?

Most of all, what about Henry?

Four years wasn’t terribly long, and it felt much slower, in retrospect. And yet, it was also agonizingly painful. Four years she missed her best friend, and four years she missed the only real parental figure she ever had in her life. The only person who cared for her how a parent should.

God knows her mother wasn’t able to do the same.

Her reflection in the rear-view mirror disgusted her. Granted, she looked fine, maybe even cute. Yet, she couldn’t shake what happened earlier that day—it still made her feel sick to her stomach. Still, she felt she needed to do this. Maybe seeing the Emily’s would be good for her after all this time.

They always did make her feel safe.

But then, why was she so nervous?

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Scott said, “I think you’re pushing yourself too much, but—”

“I know.” And from an objective standpoint, she knew where he was coming from. She was still suffering a minor concussion and just dealt with some major trauma. Maybe she was pushing herself too much—

She didn’t care.

“How do you know them again?”

“His oldest son, Nathan and I were best friends since elementary. We used to babysit his little siblings together.”

“What happened?”

“Charlie died. I remember a few weeks before, Henry mentioned how there was a malfunction with an animatronic from Circus Baby’s, owned by his business partner. His daughter supposedly died in a freak accident. It was closed the day it opened, hidden behind a gas leak. The next week, another child died. Cassidy—he was a little older than Charlie by a couple years, but for some reason, he was scared of the animatronics. He would hide under the tables and cry. Nathan and I tried to comfort him. We ended up watching over him, too. One day, a boy about our age—his older brother, I think—shoved him into Fredbear’s mouth and crushed his head. He died five days later.”

“Jesus.”

“After that, Henry wanted Nathan and I to keep Charlie and Sammy away from the animatronics, just in case, I guess. But we lost sight of her. She was found dead in the alleyway by an employee who went out for a smoke break. Her throat was crushed.”

Just like that dream.

“Mom got paranoid and I wasn’t allowed to see them again. She thought I would end up dead if I associated with the Emily’s, just like Charlie did. I guess she must have known about the other kids, too.” Nimble fingers reached for her throat. She swore she could feel it—William’s hands squeezing around her throat, tighter and tighter until it crushed under the pressure—

_“Why is the world so cruel to give him everything I deserve?”_

Fuck, she wished she could remember the details. Alas, the only thing that remained—the only reminder—was the lasting feeling of hands around her throat.

_“He doesn’t deserve you. I’ll always be the only one for you. You’re all mine. Don’t you forget it.”_

That was definitely William’s voice she heard in her dream. She could be making things up and filling in the gaps, purely based off of similar motivations—i.e, they both felt they were more deserving of something, or in Gemma’s case, some _one_ , more than someone else.

Was is just a coincidence?

What if Charlie was trying to tell her something?

What if…

“What if William did it?”

Her question seemed to catch Scott by surprise, who jerked the steering wheel a bit too far to the left. “What now?”

“What if William did it? I mean… killed Charlie… and those kids—”

“Well, I don’t know… I can’t say for sure, but…” He hesitated, fingers gripping the wheel so tight she could see his knuckles turning white. “I know he’s fucked up in the head. A rapist, sure—a murderer, how do you suppose he got away with that?”

“I don’t know—I just… the other night, I had a dream. I was a little girl, and an older man came up and spoke to me. I can’t remember much of the things that were said, but I remember him, wrapping his hands around my neck and crushing my throat—it feels… and—”

She hated this. She hated _William_.

“It feels just like when William—when he…”

“It could just be coincidence,” Scott interrupted; he didn’t need her going into another panic when they would be at their destination so soon.

Or at all.

“It makes sense that, after what he did, there would be a lot of resentment, y’know? You… could just be trying to make connections that don’t exist. You resent whoever killed Charlie and you resent William—”

“This feels different, though. What is Charlie is trying to tell me something—”

“Let’s not start this again, okay? Not right now.”

 _Shut up. He doesn’t want to talk about it_.

The silence was drowning. She cast a quick glance at Scott from the corner of her eye, who kept his eyes glued to the road in front of him.

She turned her head back towards the window and laid her head against the cool glass. “Okay. Sorry.”

A large, warm hand wrapped itself in hers. Although her hands were quite a bit smaller, and softer, in comparison to his bigger, more calloused hands, it still felt as if they fit perfectly together.

“Hey.” Scott squeezed her hand. It was like wrapping her heart in a warm hug. “I just don’t want you to get into this right before you see them. I know how important this is to you. I’m here for you, okay? We’ll get you through this.”

She didn’t deserve him. He was far too good for her.

But she wanted to be selfish.

She grinned. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He smiled back at her—again, like the sun shining down on the shadows and chasing the demons away.

Her heart blossomed in her chest, like a rose blooming at the start of Spring.

She loved him, and she was falling hard.

. . .

The house was familiar when it came into view, just how she remembered it. It was homely and humble for a family of five—then six as the Emily’s had practically taken her in. They always were such nice people.

She remembered how Henry had built this home with his own two hands, long before Fredbear’s was even thought about, just big enough for him and his family. 

She stayed here often through her childhood, especially during the summer. In a way, this place was her childhood. The best parts of it, that is.

Henry and his now ex-wife always treated her as one of their own. She had something with the Emily’s that she never had with her real parents.

Perhaps they knew that.

“Is this it?” Scott asked, and Gemma responded with a short nod.

“Yeah.”

Scott pulled into the driveway. The large window looking into the living room was covered by a light, beige curtains, and Gemma could see the very corner lift up, and a small tuft of dark, brown hair poke out from the side.

Sammy.

“You sure you feel okay enough to do this now?” Scott asked again—she couldn’t be annoyed with him. He was just trying to make sure she was okay. She was grateful for that.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Although, her nerves were starting to get the best of her.

She took a deep breath as she opened the car door. It felt strange to be standing in front of this house again—a place she thought she would never see again, only in her dreams.

It felt just as warm and welcoming as it did when she was a child.

“Gemma!”

Before she could take two steps away from the car, Gemma gasped as she was hauled up into the air by two, strong arms. Nathan had clearly done some growing in the four years they were apart, being significantly taller than Scott. He was also a little bulkier, an odd mix of chubby and muscle. Nonetheless, her feet came off the ground and he pulled her into a near bone-crushing hug. He had always been a bit of a teddy bear, and quite the hugger.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

When her feet hit the ground again, a much skinnier arm sneaked around her waist, and although he didn’t look it, she could tell Scott was jealous—just a little.

Ever the oblivious one, Nathan didn’t notice.

“It’s been so long. We missed you, y’know?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I missed you guys, too. I would have called if I could—”

“No point, really. Sammy and I just came from Washington with our mom. Dad just got out of prison last week.”

Wait, prison? What could Henry have done to go to _prison?_

“W… what do you mean?”

“You didn’t know? It was all over the news.”

“N-no, I didn’t. His number is still in the phone book, so—"

“He was arrested a couple of months after… Charlie’s funeral. You should ask him about it, it’s, uh… not really my place.”

Talking to Henry… she could do that.

Could she?

“Yeah, o-okay.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Nathan teased with a grin. “you’re still that quiet girl I knew back then, huh?”

She knew he didn’t know any better—he wouldn’t know about her past and she wasn’t ready to tell him yet, either, but still…

She wished he didn’t say things like that. Back then, she was in a rough place. She was a different person now, in some ways.

She smiled through a grimace.

“I’m Scott, by the way.” Scott took the lead, taking notice of her obvious discomfort; even as he and Nathan introduced each other, Scott didn’t move his arm from her waist for one second.

“How did you two meet, anyways?”

“She was working the prize corner when I took my nephew there for the day.”

“So what do you do?”

“I worked in IT a bit. I worked on computers at different offices, usually outside of town. I’m pretty into robotics—self-taught. Landed a job at Feddy’s as a repairman.”

“Robotics, huh?”

“Yeah, I actually used to run a robotics club in the next town over, so I like to think I know a bit about them. We built robots to compete in competitions and stuff. Not much else, since then. Can’t say I know a lot about the animatronics either, but I think I’m doing okay.”

Finally, Scott seemed to relax, dropping his arm from around her waist.

She was glad they appeared to be getting along okay.

“I can show you—Dad has some old animatronics and stuff in the garage, and we were thinking about building a new one ourselves. We could always use an extra hand, anyway. How about it?”

“Oh—I, uh…”

“Gemma, you don’t mind if I steal your boyfriend a minute, do you?”

This was going better than she expected.

“Not at all.”

“Cool, cool. Dad is out back. The gate is locked so just go through the house. You should go see him.”

And here she was, suddenly the third wheel as Nathan and Scott head into the garage, and yet, she found she didn’t actually mind.

She was just thankful they were getting along so well.

Well, now it’s now or never, she supposed.

At least meeting Nathan again wasn’t as stressful as she thought it would be.

The memories created in this house—in just the living room alone. Entire weekends spent on the couch watching their favorite shows together, as simple as it was. Sammy wasn’t anywhere to be seen; he likely retreated back to his and Charlie’s old bedroom. She didn’t expect him to remember who she was. He was five last she saw him.

She remembered the layout perfectly, and her feet carried her by muscle memory—through the living room and into the kitchen where the patio door had been left open.

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears—the pure anxiety she felt nearly made her want to turn back and leave.

No—Henry wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t be upset with her.

He would just be happy to see her.

 _You don’t know that_.

She stepped passed the threshold and onto the wooden patio. Their small backyard was surrounded by dense forestry, where she, Nathan, and the kids would play hide and seek together, back then.

Henry’s back was turned towards her, but he was just as bulky as she remembered him to be. He wore his signature green flannel shirt with his sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows, and he looked relaxed as he sat at the glass patio table; he held a composition book in his hands, with writing scribbling across the pages with red pen.

A journal?

He was so engrossed in his reading he didn’t notice her right away, even as the wood creaked underneath her feet.

What should she even say? Nothing she could think of sufficed, not even a simple “Hello”.

_Hey, I know I was gone for four years, but I’m back now—_

Yeah, that was dumb.

“Hey, Henry—”

_Goddammit._

Henry took pause before he turned to face her, rotating the patio chair. She saw the beard first, which had grown the longest she’d ever seen it during the four years they’d been apart, and then the small, circular framed glasses sitting atop his wide nose.

“Gemma?”

“Yeah, it—it’s me.”

He didn’t even smile, but she could see the way his wise eyes curved into crescents. “You went and grew up on an old man, didn’t you? Well, come closer! I’m not gonna bite.”

Henry was always a big man, and significantly tall (although Nathan was a bit taller nowadays) compared to Gemma, who has always been a little small—even when sitting he was still just barely eye-level with her; really, she’d barely grown since he last saw her. Then, she was fourteen and had already reached her peak height—although she did fill out quite a bit since then.

Bulky arms wound tight around her body and she fell against him.

This was a different kind of hug than she got from Nathan just a short while ago. It wasn’t one of those “I missed you” hugs, but he held on tight—as if she would slip away and fade into nothing if he let her go.

It was one of those hugs a parent would give with relief, after worry weighed heavy on their hearts—worry that their child could have been kidnapped or dead.

Fuck, no—she wouldn’t cry.

She wouldn’t.

“Thank Heavens you’re safe.”

And just like that, the flood gates opened; Gemma laid her head against his chest and she cried, her arms flung around his wide neck.

“I— I m-missed you, so much—”

“I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t really sure what he was even apologizing for, really.

“I-I wanted to call you—”

“No need for apologies. I wish I could have done more.”

“Wha—what do you mean?”

“I spent so long trying to get you away from your parents.”

 _He knew_.

I-I was, so scared you would be… mad.”

“Never.”

A weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

She felt free.

“And here’s where Dad keeps all his stuff.” Nathan opened up the garage door; the harsh sunlight of high noon gleamed into the musty garage. Scott was surprised it wasn’t dustier, considering the time it’s been left alone.

And even more surprised the animatronics weren’t stolen.

Two golden, animatronic suits, seemingly without any endoskeletons, sat slumped on the floor against the wall, one to the right of the work bench and the other to the left. The heads were missing from the suits, laid aimlessly on the concrete floor.

“Did someone watch the place while… y’know—”

“Oh, yeah. My uncle watched over it. His brother.” Scott followed the other man towards the work bench. Odd blueprints laid, strewn across the top of the bench. “Check these out. My dad has been collecting these since he got home. I’m not sure where he’s getting them from—him and Mr. Afton haven’t been in contact for years—”

“Mr. Afton?”

“William Afton, he co-owned Fazbear Entertainment with my dad. They built the place, and the suits. Mr. Afton created Circus Baby’s and these blueprints here. They were friends for years but as far as I know, Dad and William parted ways under bad terms after the diner closed.”

This didn’t sit well with him. If Henry and William knew each other and were friends, it was entirely plausible that Gemma even _knew_ him long before she started working at the pizzeria.

She had to have known him—she knew about his daughter and the accident, and the “gas leak”—

And that could mean William had been preying on her all this time.

God, he hoped not.

He stepped closer to the work bench. Sure enough, upon inspecting the blueprint of “Circus Baby”, he could see “Afton Robotics” in white print on the bottom left.

Air Hose Attachment. Internal Ice Cream Dispenser. Song Databank. Emergency Stop. Didn’t seem too odd, but these animatronics were certainly ahead of their time.

Ballora. Audio Activation Sensor. Deter and Misdirect.

Okay, that one was a little weird.

Balance/Stability. Collision Sensor. Nothing else out of the ordinary.

Funtime Foxy. Light Activation Sensor. Parental Voice Sync and Replay—

What the hell was this?

Variable Scent Release. Remote Floor Anchor—

It just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Finally, Funtime Freddy. Proximity Sensor/Grouping Coordination.

He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. Definitely sounded suspicious, though.

Parental Tracking/360 Pivot.

Odd, but not the strangest thing out of all of them.

Voice Mimic/luring. And a storage tank.

“What the fuck is all this?”

“That’s not even the strangest thing. Check this one out.”

Nathan unrolled another blueprint onto the work bench. This one was a little difference from the rest—it wasn’t an animatronic but rather, read as S.C.U.P at the top of the page.

“Scalable Creation of Ulterior Presence…”

Ulterior… something intentionally hidden.

Excavating Arm. Remnant Injector. Arm Base and Balance. Remnant Reservoir.

“When heated, no observable motion. Keep in heated tank at sustained temperature. Substance should be malleable, but not more.”

What was “Remnant” and just what was William Afton up to with this?

This was just weird.

“Why are you showing me this?” Scott asked—he hoped that didn’t come off too rude, but this was… kind of weird.

“Because, sir— _we_ are going to copy these blueprints. Dad thinks these animatronics were used to _capture_ and _kill_ children, and whatever this thing was, was a part of something _huge_ —"

“Then why would you want to copy them?”

“Because we have something to capture.”

. . .

“How is your mom? Has she been getting help?”

“Actually, uh… she’s in a mental hospital right now. I don’t really know… I haven’t talked to her in a year… I live on my own now—”

“Good for you,” Henry congratulated her, “Always knew she was a little crazy. I’m proud of you for getting yourself out of that. I just wish—” He took paused and sighed. “I wish… that I—Nathan and I—could have been here for you. Instead, I sat my ass in prison for four years. Lucky it wasn’t longer. They let me off easy.”

“Speaking of… why did you go to prison, anyway?”

He didn’t respond for a moment. She could sense the hesitation before he slumped his shoulders. “You’re old enough to know now, I suppose. No point in hiding it.” He closed the lid to the grill and came to sit at the patio table next to her. “The man who killed Charlie that day… I know who did it.”

_Oh._

“My business partner. He made the poor mistake of being caught on the security cameras behind the diner. I knew him to at least be smarter than that, but after his daughter and son died, he started drinking more often.” He seemed tense, jaw visibly clenched and hands balled into tight fists. “I took the evidence I had for myself. I refused to show the police because… I wanted to kill him myself. I knew I couldn’t keep the evidence, so when the place closed, I took down the cameras. Burned them and the footage.”

He continued, “Now, I have more evidence against him. He built these… things, these animatronics far ahead of their time. He was a genius, but he was obsessed. He built these things for the purpose of capturing and killing children, at least I think so; it just so happened to backfire on his own daughter. And this thing called Remnant—I’m still not sure what it is, but he built a machine for the sole purpose of extracting, holding, and injecting it. He killed Charlie, and likely many other children that will never be accounted for, to be mere experiments, all for the purpose of creating life. Not even his oldest son was safe.”

She never knew Henry to be a violent person, but she supposed this could be a special case. Charlie’s death still weighed heavy on his heart, as it did hers.

But holy shit, this was all starting to sound insane—like something right out of a thriller/mystery novel. To create life? Even to her, that sounded far-fetched.

“If you don’t mind me asking… who… who was it?”

“His name is William Afton.”

Pure dread. It chilled her heart and her stomach locked up tight and her hands tremored.

It creeped down her spine, like a spider carefully weaving webs of silk down her back.

 _William Afton_.

“W-William?”

Henry lifted his gaze to meet her panic-blown eyes. “You’re familiar with him.”

Yeah. More than familiar, in fact.

“He… he works at the new pizzeria with me.”

So Charlie _was_ trying to tell her something.

Her dream—it wasn’t a coincidence. To know she wasn’t crazy and delusional like her mother, it was a relief; yet at the same time…

_“He doesn’t deserve you. I’ll always be the only one for you. You’re all mine. Don’t you forget it.”_

_“You want this so much. I’m the only one who can satisfy you.”_

“Are you okay?” Henry asked her, concern in his voice as a hand touched her shoulder. She recoiled from his touch.

“I—I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

“Gemma, has he done something to you? Said something to you?”

 _He doesn’t need to know._ She shouldn’t burden him by telling him what happened.

And yet…

“I—I always tried to… keep my distance from him. He felt… _off_ the moment I met him. He set off every warning bell and he reminded me so much… so much of my dad. But they’re so different, it doesn’t really even make sense—”

“They couldn’t be more different in terms of personality—but they also have many things in common. Narcissistic. Manipulative—those are just a few. You have always been able to sense those qualities in a person. You met him once—you and Nathan were about eight. It was just before the establishment of Fazbear Entertainment. He visited many times. He came by to work on one of the prototype springlock animatronics. You didn’t like him then, either. Cried and screamed when he tried to give you a lollipop. Couldn’t get you to quiet down for the life of me. Begged me to get him off of you, claimed he was hurting you—absurd things when he was clearly not touching you. In retrospect, perhaps that should have been my first sign something wasn’t right—with William or your father.”

Really, it all made sense now.

Somehow, she felt twice as disgusted with herself. Not only had he raped her, but he murdered children, too.

He killed Charlie.

“Henry—”

_He doesn’t need to know._

“There—there… is something.”

Dammit, this was hard. Should she really be burdening Henry more with this knowledge?

“What is it?”

“The—the animatronics!”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him. She had to at least tell him about the animatronics though—how William _has_ created life.

“Freddy, Bonnie, Foxy, and Chica—they’re… locked away in Parts and Services. It… was originally said they would be used for spare parts but… now I’m not so sure. No one likes going back there. It smells heavily of death the moment you open the door, but we… always thought it was just rats.”

She continued, “I went back twice. They—they came to life before my eyes. They spoke to me—"

_He’s not going to believe you._

“And… and they said they trusted me, because _she_ told them to—the Puppet—what does this even mean?"

“The Marionette—I remember it acted _so_ strange the last couple of weeks before the diner closed, as did the Fredbear suit. Marionette was originally used at the Prize Counter to hand out prizes, but she suddenly stopped—she would stare at the employees through the day. I have reason to believe… Charlie is in there. Charlie loved you, Gemma. She would trust you more than anybody, even me. She brought life to the other animatronics—the other kids that died.”

He went on, “Some time ago, William contacted his oldest son, Michael. Asked him to go down to the underground facility where his old animatronics are located—Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rentals. It’s been abandoned for some time now. Michael recounted all of it in this book—” he gestured towards the composition book, lying open face down on the patio table. “His job was to “put her back together”—William’s daughter. He said the animatronics thought he was his father. Scalable Creation of Ulterior Presence, AKA, the “SCUP”, is typically used to extract, retain and inject this “Remnant”—Michael’s organic body was scuped, and he died—and yet he’s still alive. I believe this “Remnant” is what keeps someone alive, or at least is causing these animatronics to be possessed—or both. I still have a lot of research to do, but it seems Remnant starts in a liquid form. Perhaps it’s easiest to extract from children. Nonetheless, William is a mad man.”

This was too much—Charlie, she really was asking Gemma for help, asking her to help the other kids.

But she was thankful for Henry. Thankful he believed her—

She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t delusional.

He, too, had seen these with his very eyes. Perhaps she didn't have to do this all on her own.

“Wh—what am I supposed to do?”

“You don’t have to do this on your own,” He responded sternly, “the question is, “what are w _e_ going to do?” You will not bear this burden alone. I will make sure of it.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gemma and Scott go about their lives. Weirdness ensues.  
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know! 
> 
> TW: violence, math, and mentions of pregnancy??

_SLAM_. _His large hand wrapped tight around her frail throat and her back collided with the party table behind her. She gasped, drinking in what air she could, and he stood over her with a look of malevolence._

_“Now, now, Gemma,” He cooed, but it was almost teasing, as if he were trying to get under her skin. Her nails dug into his skin, desperate to pull him off—“You and I both know that isn’t true.”_

_His other hand crept up her chest, along the curve of her bosom and wrapping around her neck. He gave it a testing squeeze. “I love you, and you love me.”_

_All at once, he gripped her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut; she clawed at his arm and his hands as she fought for breath. “ **Say it**. Say it and maybe I’ll forgive you. I’ll even reward you.” _

_He released his hold on her throat and she gasped in a drink of air, giving her only a moment of reprieve before he tightened his grip again._

_“What the matter, Love? Lost for words?” She could hear him cackling above her, like a mad man depraved. He sounded jovial, almost as if he were enjoying this, watching her struggle for breath as his fingers tightened over her throat. “Come now, say it! “ **I. Love. You** ”!” _

_“Gemma?” Scott’s voice off the walls of the pizzeria, and William’s wicked grin fell into something more temperate; his fingers twitched against the sides of her neck._

_“Looks like our time is up. Go to sleep for now, Love. It will all be over before you know it.”_

~March 24, 1987

_Question 36. Let z = 2 -3 i where i is the imaginary unit. Evaluate z where z* is the conjugate of z and write the answer in standard form._

Gemma’s pencil tapped against the school desk. She really should have studied for this test, but… she couldn’t think straight. She had so much to think about, so much to consider and so little energy given everything that’s happened, it made studying for this test feel like such a low priority.

Her wooden pencil tumbled from between her fingers clattered to the desk. Her fingers twitched.

With a sigh, she bowed her head. Her fingers curled into her hair atop her head.

She was exhausted—a type of exhaustion thar simply couldn’t be cured by sleep.

_“The question is, “what are **we** going to do?”_

What _were_ they going to do?

She didn’t really know about any of this stuff. She didn’t know how to take the animatronics apart to begin with, much less how to set them free.

_Let z = 2 -3 i where i is the imaginary unit. Evaluate z where z* is the conjugate—_

Would killing William even set them free? She hated feeling this useless, especially when it was Charlie expecting her help. She didn’t want to disappoint Charlie and yet, she felt as if Charlie were asking too much of her.

_Let z = 2 -3 i where i is the imaginary unit—_

The analog clock ticked by, second by second, minute by minute—each second felt more agonizing than the last.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

“Fifteen minutes left!” Chalk screeched across the board; Mrs. Horton wrote the time limit down in big, white chalky numbers.

_You’re almost done. Go to the next problem and come back to this one later._

Gemma straightened out her back and took her pencil between her fingers. _Just a couple questions to go. You can do this._

She turned the page.

 _Question 37. Solve the equation:_ _log_ _(_ _x_ _+_ _1_ _)−_ _log_ _(_ _x_ _−_ _1_ _)=_ _2_ _log_ _(_ _x_ _+_ _1_ _)_ _._

 _Goddammit_.

“Alright, time’s up. Hand in your tests.”

Students collectively sighed as they got up to hand in their own tests. Math wasn’t a strong suit for the majority, and it seemed to be a mutual understanding that most of them did less-than-satisfactory on their math tests.

“You will get your test results in the mail by next week.”

As usual, Gemma was the last to hand in her test. She waited until most students had shuffled out of the classroom before she gathered her things; she slung her bag over her shoulder and held out the 10-page packet without so much as looking at her teacher, as if Mrs. Horton would be able to see right through her.

But Gemma could feel Mrs. Horton's eyes on her, looking at her from over the rim of her thin-framed metal glasses as she took the packet between her fingers.

“Is there something wrong?” Mrs. Horton asked, and only then did Gemma lift her gaze to meet the kind, worried eyes of her favorite teacher. She hated being asked these questions because she would always break down.

She trusted Mrs. Horton, but as much as she thought she could trust her, Gemma couldn’t bring herself to burden the woman with her problems.

“Ah—n-no, Mrs. Horton. Just tired.”

Ms. Horton looked like she didn’t believe Gemma, but she backed down, nonetheless. “I see. In that case, do you perhaps need to retake your test? I have students scheduled to take their make-up test tomorrow if you’d like to come in.”

If Gemma’s circumstances were normal, perhaps she could sit through another hour and thirty minutes of a test. Even a math test. But a lot has happened within a week. Gemma was drained, tired. She knew she couldn’t do it.

N-no, I’ll be fine, but thank you—"

“You just…” Mrs. Horton chewed on her bottom lip. “You don’t seem like yourself today. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong? Is there… something going on at home? Has something happened?”

It was then, Gemma realized something. Mrs. Horton didn’t truly know anything about her.

Gemma averted her gaze to the floor; the school tiles were dirty, despite being cleaned and waxed time and time again. “Just… “ She hesitated. For a moment, she considered telling Ms. Horton the truth, at least about William, if nothing else. After all, Ms. Horton was another woman. She would understand, right?

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to speak any more about what happened.

What if Mrs. Horton thought she was lying? Or…

Or worse, thought she was a whore?

“Just have a lot on my mind.”

“Well, alright,” Mrs. Horton reluctantly agreed, “but… if anything happens, you can come talk to me. It’s a small town, you know? You can… always call me if you need anything.”

Gemma didn’t know how to respond.

“Uh… thank you, Ms. Horton.”

Today, it was her last time setting foot behind these doors. Not even for her own graduation.

. . .

The house was deathly silent when she walked in.

It was odd not to see Kujo excited when she got home, but he barely moved since yesterday. He moved to lay in a different part of the living room; his brown eyes stared at the wall to the right of the couch. At nothing.

“Hey, Kujo,” She greeted him softly. He didn’t respond, merely perking his eyes up before they drooped back against his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Nothing.

She sighed. “Alright, then.” Well, might as well whip up something, anyway. She was pretty hungry herself. Thank God Scott bought groceries the other day.

Three different tubs of ice cream, included.

She dropped her back by the front door and head towards the kitchen. On her way into the kitchen, the red light on her telephone caught her attention, alerting her of a new voicemail.

She hated voicemails.

What if it was her mother? No—again, her mother didn’t have access to a phone, much less a phone book. It could be anyone else—Henry, Nathan, her boss, Sarah, Marcus, Scott—

William…

A hard lump formed in her throat. She hoped to God it wasn’t William, if there even was a God out there.

Slowly, her trembling fingers reached towards her phone and pressed the “voicemail” button.

_“You have 1 new messages and 0 old messages._

_ beeeeeep _

_Hey Gemma, I’m calling from work now, uh—”_

They sound of Scott’s voice had her in goosebumps. What was so important he had to call her while he was at work?

_“William quit the nightshift this morning. Something about… conditions… I don’t know but, uh… Louis asked me to take the nightshift anyway. He’s got me on nightshift until he can find a “suitable replacement”, heh.”_

No…

Why was this happening?

_“Uh… I won’t be home tonight. So… stay safe. Lock the doors. Don’t answer the door for anyone and if anything happens, call the police. Keep Kujo in the bedroom with you. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. Hang tight. I love you.”_

She’d lost her appetite.

_“I love you.”_

Her chest ached. It was like a wolf tearing at her chest; much in the same way Kujo had done to William just a couple days ago—like being gripped in an ice-cold vice that made her body shake and shiver with cold sweats.

What was she to do now?

Her back slid down the wall behind her, her head gripped between her hands and threads of brown hair tangled between her fingers. Above her head, the light began to slowly flicker.

He didn’t even say it to her in person, and the worst part—she probably would never get the chance to say it back.

She felt helpless.

Wails and cries of agony were ripped from her throat and Kujo snarled deep from his chest. When she looked at him with her tear-filled eyes, he was looking at _her_ , body lowered and the hackles of his back raised. His ears laid flat and pointed against his head. It was the same look of aggression when William welcomed himself into her home.

“Kujo?”

She sniveled and wiped the tears with the back of her head; the hallway light began to rapidly flicker, and she looked up. Suddenly, it burned bright and it burst.

It happened in a matter of seconds—so fast she didn’t get the chance to react. Kujo pounced, pushing Gemma onto the floor on her back and stood over her body; she thought she was done for, squeezing her eyes shut and awaiting the inevitable bite—

But nothing came. 

She cracked her eyes open. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather staring into the kitchen towards the backdoor where the dark curtain still hung over the glass.

Gemma let out a relieved sigh, and her hands reached up to gently scratch the scruff of his neck and for a moment, he finally took his eyes off of w _hatever_ it was that had him so worked up to, instead, enjoy the attention of his human.

“Good boy.”

. . .

This was exhausting.

Scott pushed up the arms of his uniform before he flipped through the cameras again. So far, there hasn’t been much to see. William didn’t tell him what kind of conditions he quit the nightshift over, but something about it really put Scott off.

That morning, William was clearly troubled and more disheveled than normal. The man always looked tired, like he wasn’t getting enough sleep between shifts despite working the same hours as Gemma during the day. His eyebags were always dark and his eyes screamed exhaustion, but his clothes were always ironed and his hair always neatly slicked back until it appeared almost greasy from the amount of product he likely used to get it that way.

It was a little troubling, too, when even William looked the slightest bit fearful. Although initially wanting to take the night shift, after everything Gemma said, and especially after his conversation with Nathan, it _did_ make Scott a little weary. So, he proceeded with caution.

But so far, nothing seemed out of place, aside from the general atmosphere.

During the day, it was bright and lively. Scott loved kids, and so seeing them happy made the place seem that much livelier.

At night, though, it looked less like a kids’ restaurant and more like a haunted house. It definitely gave off the same vibes. And every now and then, Scott could swear he heard a child laughing, or pans banging around in the kitchen down the hall, or the clank of metal in the hallways.

But those things amounted to nothing—nothing more than tricks of the mind and paranoia.

It was a little after 12AM with still not much activity. He wound up the music box just how William told him to, although Scott wasn’t sure exactly what it was supposed to do. With that done, he flipped through the cameras again.

Cam01, 02, 03, and 04 were the party rooms. Cam08, Parts and Services. Cam07 to the hallway.

Cam09 to the stage, and—

_Where’s Bonnie?_

Scott remembered fixing up Bonnie’s voice box in the back room during his shift just that morning. He remembered moving Bonnie back to the stage before night shift, so Bonnie wouldn’t still be in the backroom behind the stage. Did he forget to power him off?

He should be able to see Bonnie somewhere on the cameras—at least, he hoped.

He switched over to Cam11, the Prize Corner. He wound the music box and moved on to Cam07. Nothing in the hallway.

Scott found him again hiding in the darkness of the party room, and he let out a sigh—yet the hair on his arms stood up on end like a cornered cat. He didn’t like the implications of what this could mean, and he definitely wasn’t a fan of creepy kids’ animatronics moving around in the dark.

For now, he could just keep his eye on them.

Time ticked on slowly. One hour, then two… three hours passed.

It was a quarter after 3AM. Scott still hasn’t seen hide or tail of Bonnie, and it didn’t seem like the other animatronics decided to move. It was kind of boring actually after the first, initial scare—now he was more focused on keeping the music box wound.

“Check the vents—” The left vent lit up. There was nothing there, but what else was he expecting?

The place has been empty since midnight.

The right vent lit up. Also empty.

Bonnie actually hadn’t moved from the main party room, and the anticipation was beginning to drive Scott mad.

“Music box—”

He turned to the prize corner camera and wound the music box, a little too close for comfort.

He wondered though, what would happen if he just let it be.

He wasn’t going to find out.

**“Clear the stage, for the star of our show is now here!”**

That was Bonnie’s voice. It bounced off the walls of the pizzeria and Scott gripped the edges of the tablet in his hands.

It was even worse hearing him speak. It was almost as if Bonnie were aware of his presence.

**“I just love parties! Oh—I’m sorry, am I here early?”**

When Scott checked the party room camera again, Bonnie was gone. Instead, there stood Chica, staring into the camera. It put Scott on edge, but he knew there wasn’t anything to worry about. All he had to do was stay calm and monitor them.

Scott wasn’t well-acquainted yet with Chica, but it was a line he’s heard a few times while working during the day, although, it did sound a little… different.

Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, though. Of course his mind would make It out to be creepier than it actually was.

**“This is my chance to shine, and your chance to fall!”**

That was more unexpected to hear. It sounded like Bonnie, but Scott knew better. It was Bonnie’s voice and he would know. After all, he just spent his day shift fixing the animatronics voice box.

But there was something else. After hours spent on making repairs, Scott has memorized all of Bonnie’s pre-recorded voice lines by this point and, well, that wasn’t one of them.

The animatronics weren’t meant to have malicious voice lines.

Before Scott could find Bonnie on the cameras again, he could hear the clank of metal in the vent to his right. His blood ran cold.

Scott rushed to turn on the light, just to see Bonnie making his way through the vent. He couldn’t wrap his head around how they could even do that, or if they were programmed to do so.

Either way, it was fucking terrifying.

He watched as Bonnie slowly—noiselessly—climbed out of the vent and he came closer, and closer.

“O-oh, hey Bonnie—” Scott could feel the sweat drenching his hands, trembling as he grasped the edge of the desk with white knuckles. And as he tried to step away from the desk, it felt like his feet were held down by iron shackles.

Bonnie inched closer. His head moved side to side and his eyes flickered, but they were trained on him; Scott took a step back. He gripped the head of his flashlight in his hand.

Just in case.

**“There you are!”**

Scott felt his back collide with the wall and he readied his flashlight.

**“Did you think you could survive me?”**

“Fucking hell.” Maybe Gemma was right. Scott had been trying to avoid it, but it seemed impossible to deny anymore.

No wonder William quit.

But it was strange. The ones Gemma claimed to be possessed hadn’t moved all night thus far. In fact, he found himself checking Parts & Services many times to make sure.

Nonetheless, unlike Gemma, Scott wasn’t here to play nice.

When Bonnie got too close was when Scott made his move. He swung the butt of his flashlight like a baton, and it impacted with the side of Bonnie’s head. It created a deep gash in the side of his head, exposing all the fragile wiring and other parts inside.

He was thankful Bonnie still needed repairs—he could fix Bonnie up during his shift and no one would be none the wiser.

Bonnie clattered to the floor with a loud _crash_ , though still moving like it hadn’t just been knocked over at all. He couldn’t just stand around and wait—he had to hide somewhere.

**“I… can… hear… you.”**

Chica was just down the hall. And an hour and a half to go.

He just hoped that the other animatronics didn’t decide to wake up and follow suit. He could do it—if it continued like this, he could make it through his first night, easy.

But he was forever traumatized.

. . .

The sun was just rising over the horizon when she woke up the following morning—Kujo laid on the end of her bed at her feet, as usual, but he didn’t seem concerned when the front door opened.

It meant Scott was back.

Gemma peaked her eyes open when her bedroom door creaked open. Scott paused in the open doorway looking worse for wear and overtired; his eyes were lidded with the beginnings of bags beneath, and the lingering fear of what he had witnessed.

Words didn’t need to be spoken between them for there to be a mutual understanding of what had happened. The look on his face said it all. In a way, she supposed there could have been a silver-lining to all of this.

It wasn’t worth fearing for his life, though.

When he came closer, although his face was more or less cloaked in darkness, she could finally begin to make out the uniform. It looked good on him she had to admit; yet as he edged closer to the bed it was as if she was seeing William looming over her bed in the darkness of her room rather than the man she loved.

No, this was Scott. She had to remind herself of that.

His uniform shirt came off first, followed by his slacks, then his sneakers and he left them lying on the floor by the bedside. She could easily make out the form of his body that only she would know—slim and well-built with his broad shoulders, but soft and even a little pudgy where it mattered.

Slowly, he crawled into bed beside her; wordlessly still, his hand came up to cup the side of her face—his eyes told of apologies that needn’t be spoken.

“How was your test yesterday?” He asked her, and she knew it was the only thing that would take his mind off of what happened.

“It was alright. I couldn’t focus, but… I don’t think I did bad.”

“Hm,” Scott hummed. He wound his arm around her body and pulled her close. His body was warm, heating up her cooler body. Sometimes his body was like a furnace, a little too warm for her but she never minded. She appreciated the warmth of another human body. “That’s good, at least. Glad to hear it. How does it feel to officially be out of high school?”

She never really thought about it. She didn’t feel much different, but… it felt good. She didn’t have to worry about the stress anymore.

“Feels good.”

“Have you been feeling okay?” The question seemed sudden, but Gemma meekly shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ve been feeling stressed, but…”

“Good.” He sounded so serious—he wasn’t asking because he was concerned about her well-being. No, there was something else.

“Why are you asking?”

“No reason.”

“Scott... are you okay?"

With a deep sigh, he laid his head against her neck as he held her close. His hold was tight, too afraid to let her go. “I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“That I couldn’t protect you.”

She already knew what he was referring to without her asking. She bit her lip, but settled against him as he pressed her body against his. “It’s okay.”

"And... that I didn't believe you."

Gemma grew quiet. On one hand, she was happy Scott finally believed her, but... on the other, she didn't want him to experience that. "Scott, it's okay."

“No—it’s not. I—” She couldn’t see his face, but from the way his voice shook she could tell he was on the verge of tears himself.

He was just as stressed as she was, if not more. And now he was here, beating himself up over something he couldn’t control.

“Just… make sure to tell me if you feel sick or anything, okay?”

“Okay, b—but why?”

He finally decided to come out with it. "I don't want you to worry, but... I want to get you to a hospital the second any symptoms come up. We’re having you tested for pregnancy—”

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

Pregnancy?

It had been the last thing on her mind with everything else going on. But she could understand, at least. She always wanted a family, but… if it were with William’s child?

Fuck. She couldn’t do it.

“What if…Scott, I—I don’t want to have his child—”

“Hey—” He grabbed her bicep firmly but gently, enough to ground her and pull her out of the waves of panic she was drowning in. “I know but… don’t stress yourself out over it okay? We’ll have it taken care of,” Scott reassured her with a firm kiss to her forehead. “Everything will work out.”

She sniffled and nodded her head against his chest. If he said it was going to be okay, she was going to believe him.

“Hey, Gemma?”

“Hm?”

“… I love you.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I love you, too.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter to push out something before college starts getting crazy  
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!
> 
> TW: mentions of pregnancy, abortions, rape imagery, menstrual cycles

_Her eight-year-old body was bruised and tired, but that wouldn't stop her. She needed to get out of here, despite the raging storm outside. Her feet carried her to the front door and her tiny hands fumbled with the lock above her head._

_"Gemma, where do you think you're going?" The wood floors creaked under his weight as he came closer--she could practically feel his presence closing in on her, and the front door swung open. It was dark out, but she didn't care. She took one last glance at her father, silhouetted in black before she made a run for it, out the front door and down the empty streets of the neighborhood her father lived in._

_The rain drenched her and made her nightclothes cling to her body uncomfortably, but she ran--she ran until her feet were cut open from the sharp rocks and asphalt. She ran until her chest burned and ached and her throat began to tighten, and then she collapsed, scraping her knees as she struggled for air, gasping and wheezing._

_She didn't make it._

_Her father's hands grabbed her by the hair at the base of her skull and pulled her up harshly, seemingly unconcerned. But when she opened her eyes, begging him for help because she couldn’t speak, couldn’t **breathe** , he grinned down at her with a smile that felt far too familiar._

_"I'll teach you not to run away from me again."_

~April 19, 1987~

Gemma and Scott haven’t been together for very long, but she quickly realized just how attentive Scott could be... but also, how paranoid he could be.

Ever since he expressed his worry over her being pregnant though, he’s gotten worse. He’s been anxiously watching over her, waiting for the moment any symptoms should arise—calling her any chance he got while he was at work to ask her how she was feeling. He wouldn’t want William’s child just as much as she didn’t, and so, she felt she should at least be appreciative of the effort.

But it put her on edge, too.

As much as she didn’t want it, could she deal with having an abortion? That is, could she live with killing a baby—a child? Wouldn’t she, then, be stooping down to William’s level?

And could she deal with having such an invasive surgery?

And so, Gemma found herself dismissing the smallest “symptoms”. Hiding them, even.

A cramp? PMS. She should be getting her period soon anyway, right?

Bloating? PMS.

Breast tenderness? PMS.

And she hid these from Scott because, as much as she didn’t want this hypothetical child—nor did she want to think about it—she also didn’t want to be pressured into getting tested. To be poked and prodded. She didn’t want to deal with the stress of a possible pregnancy. She just wanted to hope for the best, which was obviously to not be pregnant at all.

Which brings us to now. By all means, she should have had her period by now. In fact, she was almost two weeks late, but her period was never regular. She chose to give it the benefit of the doubt. After all, it could easily just be stress.

It was a Sunday, and Scott took a day off of work to, instead, work on something in the Emily’s garage with Nathan and Sammy, who unfortunately, didn’t seem to recognize her.

She would work on that later.

Henry seemed stressed, as well. Thoughtful, at the very least, like he had a lot to say—a lot on his mind. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile as he set down a glass of water onto the coffee table in front of her; he sat on the fluffy couch beside her as she absent-mindedly flipped through the pages of the book—the book given to him by William’s oldest.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” Henry cleared the silence, "No amount of turnin’ the same pages over and over again will convince me somethin’ isn’t bothering ya.”

“It’s nothing, just—“ Her eyes scanned the pages for anything interesting, but there was nothing. At least, nothing she hadn’t seen by now. A nice little drawing of Foxy sketched onto the pages in red pen—apparently this guy could draw, especially for a guy who was supposedly a zombie. “Just… y’know, a lot of stress.”

“Gemma, look at me.”

She hesitated, but eventually did as he said; he was giving her the “dad” face—the same face he would give her and Nathan whenever they got up to something they weren’t supposed to, or when he knew they were lying. But behind the hardness was kindness.

The loving kindness that helped her come out about all the horrible things her father did to her.

“You got that look.”

“W-what look?”

“The same look you gave me back then. The look that says you’ve gotta lot to say and don’t know how to say it—you’re too afraid to.”

And she knew that no amount of trying to convince him otherwise would work. She was never a good liar, but especially not to Henry who seemed to be able to read her like the back of his hand.

“I—” she bit her lip back, almost as if to will herself to stop and just leave things alone. “I don’t know how to handle everything that’s being thrown at me. I want to help Charlie, but—”

“Kid, I told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he scolded her, “I told you we would figure it out together, and we will—the four of us.”

“It’s—it’s not just that.”

“Well, whatever it is, you can tell me about it.”

_Don’t tell him, he won’t believe you._

_He won’t believe you._

_He’ll think you’re a whore._

_But he’s like a dad to you, maybe he could help._

She closed the notebooks and folded her arms across the top as she pondered over her next words. She needed to choose what she said as carefully as possible.

“Scott… Scott is worried about the possibility of me being pregnant.”

Henry seemed a little taken aback if anything, but he bounced back quickly. She could tell it wasn’t exactly what he was expecting to hear. “You’re too young to be pregnant anyway.”

“Heh, well, that’s not exactly the problem.”

“Does he just not want kids?”

“No, it’s—it’s not that, either. I mean…” she gazed down at the hardwood floor beneath her feet. “We’ve only been together for a month and we haven’t really talked about it, but… that isn’t—”

“Oh, well then, what’s the matter, kid?”

She took a deep breath. Here it comes. She felt like she wanted to throw up—was it pregnancy or anxiety? It was hard to tell. “He’s… he’s afraid it isn’t his. He’s—”

“So he’s accusing you of cheating on ‘im, is he?” He stewed in silent anger, but she could see it in the way his hands balled into white fists and his jaw visibly clenched even from under his thick beard. There were many times she’s seen Henry upset or even disappointed, and she remembered how distraught he was when they found Charlie that day. But she’s never seen him angry. “I oughta give him a piece of my mind.”

He moved to get up off the couch and in a fit of panic, Gemma rushed to grab him. “Gemma—”

“No, Henry, that isn’t it, I swear.” Her panicked voice interrupted him, holding him hostage as she tried to coax him back to the couch. “Please don’t go to Scott about this.”

Now—now she had to tell him.

“He’s…” Henry sat back on the couch as she tried to force the words from her throat. Her heart felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest. What would he think? What would he do? “He’s afraid it’s William’s.”

Even a month after it happened, she could still feel his hands on her body—around her throat. The sound of his voice as he vocalized his pleasures in her ear. The scars that he left behind—not physical, but mental, emotional scars that would never fade, and deepened the ones already sowed into her mind.

Her words surprised Henry; his eyes—once always filled with kindness that had long been replaced by apathy and exhaustion—were wide with shock. Slowly, he began to boil over, as if he already knew what she was trying to tell him. His anger turned into blinding hot, white rage but he didn’t vocalize it. Rather, he sat in silent anger as she continued—

“He… I was so stupid, and gullible. I shouldn’t have trusted him. He—it’s my fault.”

Henry pulled her into a tight hug before she could say anything else. “It’s never your fault. You don’t have to say any more.”

She could feel herself unraveling bit by bit like a ball of yard that had been let to fall. Unwinding until there was nothing left. And eventually, it forced its way out; her shoulders shook with sobs and her chest rose and fell unevenly with gasps for air. She fell against him, balling her fists into his shirt and he held her tighter.

He didn’t say anything for the longest time, but sat by her and let her cry against him. What else could he have done? The thought of killing William crossed his mind—he had been to prison once. He wasn’t afraid to go back.

But now, Gemma needed him.

When the cries all but calmed down and all that remained were wet cheeks and sniffles, he finally spoke again, “Gemma, listen to me.” He didn’t let go, nor did he loosen his hold. In fact, he seemed to hug her tighter. “God, I—" He bowed his head. His forehead touched the crown of her head.

He should have killed William Afton years ago.

“N-no, I’m sorry, I’m fine.” She pulled away, wiggling out from his arms and wiped the tears from her reddened cheeks. “Really, I’m fine. It’s not a big deal and I was stupid to say anything.”

Those words broke his heart, and she could see the way his face fell and softened from the corners of her eyes.

“It is a big deal, and you’re _not_ fine, Gemma, look at you! This isn’t okay. Nothing about this is “fine”, you have to know that.” He hated seeing her like this—so broken and fragile. “And it’s not a one-time thing, either. If it were, he would have chosen someone who didn’t know him. He knows you’re going to be quiet.”

If anyone knew William, it would be Henry, after all.

Gemma still couldn’t bring herself to look Henry in the face, face reddened with shame; she curled up against the side of the couch and kept her head down. She just wanted to escape.

Scott was too busy. She shouldn’t interrupt him.

_No way out. No way out._

Henry leaned forward, gently pushing back a tuft of hair that had fallen to the front of her face. “Stop letting him control you,” He said, and he lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “You need to show him he’s messing with the wrong woman.”

The wrong woman…? She surely wasn’t strong. How was she supposed to do that?

No, she was far from strong. She was timid. Easily frightened and gullible. It was like William could smell her from a mile away. He was like a bloodhound—the hunter. And like the hunted—the prey—she couldn’t keep this up forever. She couldn’t avoid him and hope he would go away because, inevitably, he would come back.

Henry was right.

She didn’t plan on seeing him again any time soon, but next time—if at all—she would remind herself not to be afraid.

“You’re not upset or mad at me, are you?” The question came out as soon as it came to the front of her mind and she almost felt like a child again, when she would profusely apologize for asking for food or even an extra blanket because the room was a little too cold. Even then, after having responded so nonchalantly in a way she interpreted as anger or annoyance, he would make sure to let her know he wasn’t upset with her—that, in fact, he loved her.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you’re going through all of this.”

But for her, a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“I think you should get a test done,” He said surely, “not a store-bought one, but a blood test from the doctor. It’s more accurate and you will know for certain.”

“But… what am I supposed to do if it comes back positive? I don’t want to have William’s baby—”

“I know you don’t but the sooner you know, the sooner you can get rid of it if you really don’t want it.”

Her hand covered her stomach. As much as she didn’t want William’s child, she didn’t think she could go through with that. “I… I don’t know if I even want to do that. I don’t know if I could live with myself. I feel... like I’m no better than him.”

“Well,” Henry spoke with a sigh. “Whatever you decide to do, just know I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

She leaned against him as a small smile bloomed on her face. A single arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Thanks, Henry.”

“No problem. I love you, kid.”

“I love you, too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna wait until next week to post this but i got too excited and couldn't wait so take this chapter early  
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS  
> Tw: murder, sexual imagery. allusion to and mentions of rape, pregnancy mentions, mentions of attempted suicide, normal story stuff, you all should get it by now

_I could no longer tell if the blood soaking my hands was real or a mere figment of my imagination._

_The past few months haven’t gone as I had hoped. My plan had been falling apart at the seams for some time and the presence of Scott only made it worse, especially now that Gemma and Scott lived together._

_And then, she stopped coming to work._

_In retrospect, I shouldn’t have acted on my desires so soon. It has made her even more distant, but I was so overtaken by anger that I simply couldn’t help myself. Watching through Fredbear’s eyes while that boy stole her purity—her innocence, when it should have been me. How it made my blood boil._

_I should have been the one to tarnish her. To defile her. Only to then find out her father got to her first._

_If I could, I’d kill the man, even if for the simple fact he got to her before I could._

_My plan was tossed into the wind. Now—now, I realized that in order to get what I wanted, I needed to take it. She was within my grasp. I had the means to completely make her mine, I just needed to be patient and take that chance._

_But first and foremost, I needed to let off some steam._

_The kill was always the best part—aside from Gemma, it was the only thing that could make me feel something other than perpetual apathy. Watching their struggle and fight for breath until the life left their eyes—or their slow, shuddering breaths, their tortured sobs, and the fear in their eyes as I closed the heads of the animatronics onto their bodies._

_But the fear when they realized they would never see their loved ones again—their siblings, their parents, their pets, or their classmates was even better. It was euphoric, like reaching the long, drawn-out climax that made your legs shake._

_I wonder, how would Gemma’s skin look, with her skin blood stained and bruises littering her skin like constellations?_

_The hard part was hiding the bodies. It was especially difficult when it was within your own place of employment, but I made it work—I always have._

_Gemma would come back. And when she did, she would be mine for the taking._

“What did you and Henry talk about? You look… slightly less demolished than earlier.”

“Slightly less demolished”… she couldn’t even find the energy to laugh at that.

Gemma didn’t look away from the window; watching the trees as they drove by put her at peace.

“Well…” The bright, afternoon sky slowly became overcast. The heavens rumbled restlessly as dark clouds closed in, covering the sun like a thick blanket and turning the sky a deep grey. The silence was disrupted by another rumble of thunder in the distance, and then the rain began to fall—it poured over the empty streets with a roar and pelted the car, and even the wiper couldn’t keep up.

“Goddammit,” he cursed—but he didn’t pull over to wait out the storm.

“I told him...”

“Yeah?”

Gemma swallowed thickly. “About the… thing.”

“How did he take it?”

“Well…” She wrung her hands in her lap. “He was pretty mad, at first. William was his best friend and business partner for years.”

“Yeah, I… kinda get that. When someone so close to you gets called out as a rapist. It’s, uh… not a good feeling.”

Gemma looked to Scott in surprise. “What?”

“Uh, yeah. Uh—you didn’t hear it from me, but… my sister, uh…she was… raped, by our uncle not long after her eighteenth birthday. I-I don’t know all the details, but…” He took a deep breath. “I remember how… broken she was. I was only twelve—it… it wasn’t my job to take care of her, y’know? To keep her from killing herself almost every day. I helped calm her down when she had panic attacks or when she was dealing with PTSD…”

That definitely helped to explain some things. Gemma wondered why Scott always knew what to say and just how to calm her down.

“And then Matt was born. She was distraught, you can imagine. Didn’t even want to hold him. She was afraid he would look too much like… him. But she uh, she said when I held him, she fell in love with him, because he favored me so much. He still does. He’s my little doppelganger.” Scott let out a short laugh. “But, uh, my uncle and I were pretty close until then. I didn’t have a dad growing up, so he was kinda my father figure. He never did go to prison, but… he paid his dues.”

“What happened?”

“Fucker died in a bad accident a few years back. Glad he’s dead. One less piece of shit in this world.”

“What about your mom? What did she do?”

“Fuck her too. She didn’t believe my sister when we told her what our uncle did. She can rot for all I care.” In spite of that, Scott grinned when he looked at her. “Look at us, both from shit homes. We’re perfect for each other.”

Perhaps the joke was in poor taste, but Gemma found herself smiling, regardless. “Maybe.”

“Well, when this is all over we’ll move out of Hurricane. We’ll make a new home far away from here. Maybe have a few kids—we’ll be a perfect family.”

A perfect family… she’s always wanted that. It used to seem like a dream too far out of reach, but perhaps it was closer than she originally thought.

“You…you really want that with me?”

“Of course I do! I love you.”

Gemma laid a hand across her stomach. Speaking of kids… “Hey, Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I… want to get the test done. If I’m pregnant, I want to keep it.”

“Gemma, are you sure? There’s always a chance it will look like him, you know? I can’t imagine that sitting well for you…”

“I know, but… the idea of an abortion feels wrong to me. But I don’t know if I’d want to get rid of it, either.”

“Well, think of it this way…” Gemma turned her head to look at him, but he kept his eyes on the blurry road ahead. “That will be _my_ child, not William’s, and damn me if I won’t try to be the best damn dad I can be.”

Her heart swelled with admiration—adoration. She truly loved him with every inch of her heart. She would give anything to have the life he spoke about with him.

“So then,” Scott spoke again, “We’ll make an appointment, and _then,_ ” he took his hand off the wheel and reached over the center console to grab her hand. “We get the spend the rest of the evening together, just you and me… and Kujo, of course.”

“And then you have to go back to work…”

“Hey, at least tonight is my last night. And then I get to go back to my normal job, a maintenance guy. Thank God. I’m glad that Michael guy is helping out. I don’t know how much longer I could take the night shift.”

“I hope we can do this…”

“We’ll go over the plan more when we get home. For now, try not to worry so much. Everything will be fine. Now, let’s get home. It doesn’t look like this storm will be going away any time soon, so… I’ll take it slow.”

“Okay.”

. . .

~April 23, 1987~

Absolutely nothing was fine.

For the first time in over a month, Gemma found herself in her uniform again. She was anxious about returning to work after all this time, and even more self-conscious in the pale, yellow dress than the last time she wore it.

_“That dress is rather form-fitting on you, love. Wouldn’t want to attract unwanted attention, would we?”_

And remembering what happened. It even made her feel… dirty.

But she couldn’t just tell her boss “no”, especially not when he was so desperate and understaffed now that half the pizzeria employees quit without even a 2 weeks’ notice. The majority of them were minors—teenagers whose parents no longer felt safe with their children working there. Not after what happened.

Thankfully, William was fired. Seems his deeds were finally catching up to him.

But Gemma could tell it was going to be slow going. Whether or not they were short staffed wouldn’t really matter. It’s not like many parents would bring their kids here after four kids were murdered just this week, in spite of the fact the “suspect” was no longer allowed to so much as step foot on the property.

Not much else was stopping William from coming back if he so pleased, though, especially since they didn’t have anyone on day watch. He knew the restaurant better than anyone.

“Do you think he did it?” Sarah asked, almost solemnly. She pressed her dress down with her hands and Gemma glanced her way.

“I don’t know,” she answered—it wasn’t an honest answer. Gemma knew he did it, but she wasn’t willing to get into that conversation. “He’s the only guy who knows how to operate the spring lock suits, and they’ve been out of commission for years now.”

“He was just so nice, you know? He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would kill anyone, let alone kids.”

But Gemma knew better. “Yeah…”

“Well, we better get to work.” Sarah sighed. “It’s going to be a slow day. You ready?”

 _No._ She wasn’t ready to go back out there.

If anything, she wanted to return home with Scott. To cuddle up under the blankets with Kujo at their feet and pretend none of this happened.

Instead, tonight, they would be stuck cleaning up more of William’s mess.

She answered reluctantly—the words on the tip of her tongue but not quite coming out. “I—I guess.”

Gemma followed Sarah into the main party room from the employee break room. It was deathly silent—unusual even for the AM.

The animatronics were on stage today.

She knew what was inside, even if their boss wanted to keep it hush-hush.

Michael would be coming in for the night shift tonight. Gemma was a little nervous to meet him. An actual zombie? The walking dead? It sounded like this was coming straight out of a horror story.

She just hoped it went smoothly.

. . .

“You don’t need any help do you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Gemma answered. She looked at the clock above the doorway. It was close to midnight. Michael should be arriving soon.

“You sure? You look tired.”

“Yeah. You and Marcus should head home.”

Sarah hesitated to respond, her expression practically screaming concern for her friend, but she didn’t want to push. “Okay, well, you better call me when you get home. I’m getting worried, Gemma.”

“I will, I promise.” Hopefully, they could get this over with as soon as possible so she could keep that promise.

“Okay.” Sarah sighed. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Gemma watched as Sarah slung her jean jacket over her shoulder; she cast Gemma one last glance before she left without another word—Gemma heard the front door shut, and she leaned against the party table.

The animatronics were still on stage. It was unsettling, how their eyes seemed stuck on her, watching her every move.

Scott would kill the lights, thus allowing them to carry the bodies—if any—out the back door to then be loaded into the back of Henry’s truck. And in the morning, Michael would tell their boss it was because of the old, faulty wiring.

 _Tik…tok._ Each passing second felt more nerve-wracking—agonizing.

And then she could move on from this. More importantly, the children wouldn’t be in pain anymore. Whether or not they killed William after this, that was in their hands now.

She and Scott could move away from here and eventually, they could forget about all of this. They could forget about Freddy’s, the children…

**And William.**

When the clock struck midnight, the front door opened and closed again, screeching loudly against the old tile floor. That must be Michael coming in for the night shift.

And now that he was here, she should finish up and start making her way into the security room. She would much rather be with him than be alone—after all, Henry trusted him. He must be a nice guy under all the… possible rotting flesh.

_But Henry trusted William, too._

Michael seemed just as fed up with his dad’s shit as they were, though. That made him a decent person, at least to Gemma.

Gemma dropped the rag, doused in cleaner, into the bucket at her side and she draped the party cloth over the table.

The lights shut off. The party room was engulfed in darkness—so much she couldn’t make out her hand in front of her face.

And to make things worse, she didn’t have a flashlight on her.

“Shit—ow!” Gemma banged her leg against one of the party tables as she tried to maneuver within the dark. Her leg throbbed. It begged for attention but now definitely wasn’t the time. She could stop when she felt safer, and perhaps not alone. “Goddammit.”

 _Okay, just be careful._ Some people had to live blind. If they could move around and not hit anything, she could too. She just had to adapt.

Gemma felt around until her hand came into contact with the edge of the table. All of the tables were lined up in rows, so maybe if she just walked along the edges of the tables, she could make it out without kicking or hitting anything.

Gemma braced her hands against the sides of the table. Slowly, she moved along the side, letting her legs feel for anything in the way.

The animatronics watched her, with their dull, white eyelights that seemed to bore into her very soul. It was uncomfortable, enough to have goosebumps forming over her skin and her hair standing on edge.

And then there were footsteps.

Gemma took pause. Her eyes still haven’t adjusted to the darkness. The only thing she could make out were the faint lights from the eyes of the animatronics on stage, not nearly bright enough to illuminate such a large space.

They came closer. Gemma could hear her heartbeat, thumping harder against her chest, and the way her palms suddenly felt clammy. She could feel the way her arms and legs suddenly felt weak and they began to tremble, and the only thing keeping her upright was her hold against the side of the table.

“Sc-Scott?” She called out.

No answer.

“Henry?” No answer.

“N-nathan? Michael?”

A body pressed against her body and large hands came to rest against her hips. She drew in a sharp breath. “Sc-Scott, please, don’t mess with me. Y-you know I don’t like this—”

A deep voice chuckled behind her. Her body froze and the man behind her leaned closer until his breath tickled the back of her ear.

“Wrong person, Love.”

“William-!”

One of his hands clamped over her mouth; the other kept a strong hold on her hip, keeping her pressed flush against the table.

“As much as I love to hear your pretty voice crying out my name like that, Love, I’m going to need you to be quiet, just for a while. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

She struggled against his, nails clawing at his arms and desperately trying to rip him away. But William was stronger—was there really no way out?

_“You need to show him he’s messing with the wrong woman.”_

The wrong woman… how was she supposed to do that?

_Think, Gemma. You can think of something._

She needed to do anything she could to get away from him.

Without a second thought, Gemma opened her mouth and clamped her teeth onto his hand. With a hiss, William reared his hand back and spun her around to face him. She couldn’t see his face, but he was annoyed, at the least.

“Well, that’s no way to be, is it?” William teased, but his voice trembled with an edge of anger, as if he were about to lose his cool.

S _cream for help. Don’t just stand here and let him do this._

But she couldn’t speak. Her body was frozen with fear, unable to move or speak—it was torturous.

“I thought that, by now,” William tugged her body close by her hips until the stood chest-to-chest. “You would have realized just how much you need me.” His hand began to slide down her hip, closer to her backside. It was slow, as if he were testing the waters—testing what her reaction would be. “You need me, like I need you.”

_Do something, anything—anything._

_Get away, get away, get away—_

“Like hell I need you.” With a burst of adrenaline, Gemma pressed her hands firmly to his chest and shoved him back. “Get away from me!”

The table scraped against the floor as William fell back against it.

Now was her chance.

_Make a run for it. Fine Scott, Michael, somebody—_

**SLAM**. His large hand wrapped tight around her frail throat and her back collided with the party table behind her. She gasped, drinking in what air she could, and he stood over her with a look of malevolence that she could barely make out in the dark.

_“He doesn’t deserve you.”_

“Now, now, Gemma,” He cooed, but it was almost teasing, as if he were trying to get under her skin. Her nails dug into his skin, desperate to pull him off—

"You and I both know that isn’t true.” His other hand crept up her chest, along the curve of her bosom and wrapping around her neck. He gave it a testing squeeze. “I love you, and you love me.”

_“I’ll always be the only one for you. You’re all mine. Don’t you forget it.”_

All at once, he gripped her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut; she clawed at his arm and his hands as she fought for breath. “ **Say it**. Say it and maybe I’ll forgive you. I’ll even reward you.”

_“You’re enjoying this. You want this.”_

He released his hold on her throat and she gasped in a drink of air, giving her only a moment of reprieve before he tightened his grip again.

“What the matter, Love? Lost for words?” She could hear him cackling above her, like a mad man depraved. He sounded jovial, almost as if he were enjoying this, watching her struggle for breath as his fingers tightened over her throat. “Come now, say it! “ **I. Love. You** ”!”

_Scott, Charlie, anyone—_

_Help me._

“Gemma?” Scott’s voice echoed off the walls of the pizzeria, and William’s wicked grin fell into something more temperate; his fingers twitched against the sides of her neck.

“Looks like our time is up. Go to sleep for now, Love. It will all be over before you know it.”

William pressed on, tighter, tighter and tighter, and as Gemma closed her eyes, the last thing she saw were the eyes of the animatronics, watching them from the stage.

_Save her._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5am update because i'm on a roll  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD:  
> mentions of rape, PTSD, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, domestic abuse and references to sexual abuse.  
> It only goes downhill from here
> 
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!

_She will look at me and no one else._

_I will become her world, and she, the moon that orbits around me._

_She will focus solely on me—need and depend on me and my attention only._

_And I will never let her go._

~ April 23, 1987~

Gemma stirred awake slowly, groggily; she didn’t recognize the room she was in, far too dark for her to see, but it was cold, and she could feel the bed beneath her. The bed creaked with each movement she made and the mattress felt lumpy, far different from the one she had at home.

The smell of cigarette smoke was putrid—it smelled like her father’s cigarettes, and the smell stole her breath away and burned her lungs. It always had, but over the years, she grew used to it.

And something else—something sickly sweet, far more pungent that made her want to vomit.

She tried to move—to turn her head and sit up from the bed, only for pain to shoot through her body in crippling spams down her back, and she couldn’t help but cry out as she recoiled back onto the bed.

“Shh, careful, my dear. Just take it easy,” a voice cooed at her side, and she felt a head touch the crown of her head, stroking her hair lovingly; it was a feeling almost foreign to her, but familiar enough it made her stomach churn. “You’re safe here.”

 **This** felt familiar, as if she were a child again. Back at her father’s house.

He would use her until her body couldn’t take it anymore, and when she woke the next morning with scratches and bruises from fighting him all over her arms, her body, and sore, he would baby her. Treat her and dote on her until the next time he would do it all over again until she went back to her mom’s house for the remainder of the week.

He always smelled like cigarettes.

“Daddy?” Gemma’s voice was strained with alarm that couldn’t be quite met with movement, as if she were held down to the bed by weights sitting heavy on her chest.

He was silent. His fingers, a little crusty, mapped out the features of her face—down the side of her cheek, across her chin and her lips, and when she licked her lips she found they tasted ever so slightly metallic.

“Not your father, Love,” he answered—his voice held anger in his words. “William.”

**William.**

“It is a bit dark in here, I suppose. Perhaps I should turn on the light.” The bed creaked as William stood up from the side of the bed and she was left alone in the dark.

_“What the matter, Love? Lost for words?”_

_“Come now, say it! “_ **_I. Love. You_ ** _”!”_

The memories came flooding back all at once, piercing her mind like static—like screams that called for help, for someone to save them—save her.

She was supposed to meet Michael and Henry.

She was supposed to get this over with.

She was supposed to be home with Scott.

She was supposed to have her test tomorrow.

She and Scott were supposed to forget about this—forget about William—and move far away from here. Have a family together.

Her dreams seemed far, far out of her reach.

The light hurt at first when it flicked on, but she could clearly see William standing at the other side of the room—his hair was more disheveled than normal, messy and greasy looking and framing his face rather than slicked back, as he normally kept it. His ashy lavender button down was wrinkled, but what caught her attention was the red—the blood, caked and dried on the front of his shirt and on his hands.

The hands he touched her face and her lips with.

William held a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers; he brought the butt up between his lips to take a long, deep drag into his lungs, and then he dropped the butt from between his fingers and stomped it out onto the concrete floor beneath his shoes.

Concrete walls and concrete floors—like her own personal prison cell.

When William came closer, Gemma attempted to move again—to shield herself away from him and hide away, to pretend like this wasn’t happening. But when she moved her leg, there was a pull—an echoing noise that sounded of metal against metal, and when she looked down, there was a single cuff tied to her ankle, effectively keeping her bound to the metal frame of the bed.

A child’s bed at that, it seemed to be.

“How about a bath? Some clean clothes and a meal, it might help you feel better.” He asked her as he stood at the bedside, and Gemma flinched away as he cupped her cheeks with blood-stained fingers that smudged dried blood across her pale cheeks. “There’s only me now, Love. He’s gone.”

_“He’s gone.”_

Those words echoed—resonated in her mind and Gemma was utterly stricken with guilt and grief.

Scott—was dead.

She would never get the chance to see him again. To say or hear another “I love you”. She would never get the chance to move out of Hurricane with him, to have a family with him.

And this child—this hypothetical child—what kind of life could they have?

William’s thumb brushed against her cheek again, wiping away stray tears she didn’t even notice.

“But I’ll love you and care for you more than he ever did.” A vow—a sinister one meant to sound true and romantic, but she knew better.

Gemma rarely felt angry. She was afraid of anger, afraid to turn out like her father when he got angry. But this time, it engulfed her like raging fires. It consumed her. Consumed the grief and the guilt, and it was as if her body acted on its own.

She moved through the pain. She pressed her foot against William’s chest and kicked him back. “Get off of me-!”

But she wasn’t nearly strong enough. William barely budged.

In retrospect, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to try and fight back when one leg is cuffed.

William’s face twisted with rage. He reared his hand back and when his hand hit across her head, she fell back with the force of it. She cried out as she fell onto the bed again—it stunned her. Left her with nothing but shattered willpower and shattered emotions.

“Now let’s try this again, shall we?” His fist curled into her hair and yanked her upwards with another cry of pain; her hands grabbed onto his wrist. “What do you say, Love?”

Gemma hesitated to answer, especially with William holding onto her hair. “Please,” she managed to whimper. She did feel gross. Perhaps a bath wouldn’t be so bad.

At least he was offering her a bath and clean clothes.

William grinned. The same grin he had when he was hovering over her with his hands clasped around her throat.

“That’s a good girl.” He released her hair, instead gently petting the crown of her head as if he hadn’t just gotten physically violent with her. “It’s been rough, I know. But I’ll take care of you tonight, so long as you don’t try to fight me.”

Gemma didn’t like him touching her, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—fight back, lest she want him to hit her again. After all, he was much stronger than her.

That anger—that raging fire inside of her was but mere embers under his boot.

The water felt nice on her skin. For a moment, she could allow herself to relax.

At least William was bothering to take care of her.

The feeling of the cool water kept her grounded, letting each tiny wave wash over her as she moved her arm back and forth in the water. Meanwhile, William changed himself, and even washed the blood from his hands before he sat on the edge of the porcelain tub beside her.

It was strangely intimate. This was something Gemma hadn’t even done with Scott, but… she was too afraid to speak out about it, to ask for her privacy.

But she needed to know.

“Why did you kill him?” She asked quietly, almost bitterly. She didn’t bother to look at him, eyes staring off at the white walls that felt like a prison.

From what Gemma remembered, William didn’t kill Scott before he got to her. Why did William feel the need to kill Scott if he already had her? “Why did you kill the only person… who could love someone like me?”

_Someone pathetic. Someone broken. Someone used._

She was anticipating for William to get angry again, but he didn’t even flinch as he brushed his soapy fingers through her sweaty hair. He hummed.

She had to admit, as disgusted as she felt by William touching her, the feeling of him lathering the shampoo into her hair felt nice.

And what of Kujo? He wouldn’t have anyone there to take care of him.

If Scott was found dead, she supposed she would have to rely on Henry and Nathan. As it was, there was little she could do.

She was hopeless.

“What do you mean? He was not the only man who would love you. I am here, aren’t I? Here, you don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll take care of you. Just rely on me.”

Was this even love?

She was still young and she could admit, she might not understand what love was supposed to look like. She didn’t have loving parents and her parents despised each other.

But she loved Scott, didn’t she? And Scott loved her.

“You don’t think loving me is strange?” William was in his early fifties if she recalled correctly. She was only eighteen. Almost a thirty-year age difference seemed odd and questionable at best. “Wasn’t your oldest son older than me?”

“Love comes in many different ways, different sizes, shapes, and numbers. None of it matters to me.”

_Clearly._

“The only thing that matters is my love for you. That it’s real and runs deeper than any ocean. It doesn’t matter if it seems strange. It just means those that think so don’t know what true love is.”

For once, Gemma actually found herself… considering what he said. Did he maybe have a point?

Maybe she didn’t know what true love was supposed to look like. But this—wasn’t love supposed to be caring for one another? Being there for each other? The same thing Gemma and Scott did?

Isn’t that what William was doing right now? He didn’t need to be helping her at all and yet, here he was. What more could she ask for?

_He_ **_raped_ ** _you. Kidnapped you._

No—she couldn’t let herself believe what he said. He killed Scott for this. He killed Charlie. He hurt so many people.

What was she supposed to believe?

Why he would love someone like her, nonetheless, enough to kill a man… she couldn’t even begin to rationalize it.

She didn’t respond this time, letting William dip her head back into the cool water to rinse her hair.

When he was finished, Gemma finally drew her attention to him. William had always looked exhausted, with deep and dark eyebags and dull eyes. But now the eyebags had been becoming a little less prominent, and his eyes a little brighter. He always looked too tired for his own good, but ever since he quit the night shift, it seemed to be doing wonders for his sleeping habits.

“You look less tired,” she commented, and William seemed to take it as a compliment with the way he smiled—the first semblance of a genuine smile she’s ever seen on him.

“As to be expected. I didn’t realize just how far I was pushing myself. I suppose I lived to work. I still have to search for a new job but now, I’ll have time to take care of you.”

And she would be here all day, with him.

But would she really want to be alone? It was a place still unfamiliar to her.

Gemma looked down at the water. It was murky, turned a light grey in color.

_Gross._

Slowly, Gemma sifted her hands through the cooling, discolored water. “I’m getting cold.” She really just wanted out and to sleep, despite having just woken up. What time was it, even?

She wished she were home. Home, with Kujo and Scott.

She wished she could lay in bed with Scott and not have to worry about William anymore.

What was the likelihood she would be sleeping next to William, instead?

“Of course, Love.”

When William helped her out of the tub, he wrapped a warm, fluffy blue towel around her body. Having someone wash her hair for her was nice, but this was just all kinds of odd. She didn’t need his help drying off as if she were a child.

But she didn’t argue back. She let him do as he pleased for the time being. She did dress herself, though—the first thing she truly did for herself since she got here. The t-shirt was a nice, soft blue—easy on the eyes and soft to touch. It was large, meant to fit William’s body rather than hers, but it was better than nothing.

“I’ll make us lunch in a few, alright? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

So it was lunchtime. She didn’t realize just how hungry she was until her stomach rumbled, thankfully quiet enough to hide. She didn’t want to eat anything he had to make. What if he put something in it?

But she shouldn’t deprive herself of food. She would probably be here a while, and she definitely didn’t want to go back to that room—the basement—to be all alone. “Can I help?”

William seemed to hesitate. “I think it would be best for you to lie down. You’re still unsteady, Love. It won’t take me long.”

 _No._ No, no, no, no, she wouldn’t go back—she couldn’t go back. Anything to stay out of there. Cement floors and cement walls—it was suffocating.

William laid a hand on her back to lead her from the bathroom and Gemma clung to him, clutching his shirt with a white-knuckled grip—unrelenting and refusing to let go—as if her life depended on it, depended on **him**. Fear had gone out the window and had consumed her all at once.

No longer was he her abuser, the very man who raped her and kidnapped her, and even hit her not too long ago.

No longer was he the man who has killed countless people—killed her family, the man she loved, and then some.

Instead, it was as if his very presence kept her grounded. He was real. She could feel his body, his warmth, the texture his shirt under her fingers. And she could feel his hair between her fingers when she thread them through his thin, dark hair.

He was the only thing that kept her stable when it felt like she was breaking, like everything was falling apart.

“Please let me go with you. Don’t leave me alone. I—I won’t do anything, I won’t try to leave, I promise—please just don’t leave me alone.” Her pleas came out in pathetic whimpers, and William finally relented.

Bit by bit, Gemma’s fragile mind was beginning to crumble.

“Alright, but you have to do as I say.” When he let go of her, William slipped his dark grey necktie from around his neck. “Just a precaution, Love. That’s all.”

Precaution for what, exactly? She didn’t like being tied up, but if that were the only way he would let her be with him, so be it. As long as he stayed with her, it was better than being restrained by a cuff, alone in a dank room of concrete.

And so, Gemma allowed William to tie her wrists together with his neck tie, a little tight for her liking, but she wouldn’t complain.

. . .

“You aren’t a very good cook.” Gemma didn’t cook often, not anymore. No time with school and work, but she used to quite often. She liked to think she knew a bit about it.

But there was no sense in wasting, especially since he went through the trouble of making it for her already.

“I taught myself. Perhaps not very well. I’ve never thought it as my job to produce extraordinary cooking. How about yourself? Do you enjoy it?”

“I don’t know,” Gemma answered earnestly. How could she? “It’s just something I’ve always done. I stopped when I was emancipated because… I couldn’t keep up with the workload, and I didn’t have the money. It was just faster and cheaper to eat out.” Especially since she lived with an 80-pound dog.

She missed him.

She felt compelled to continue. It wasn’t William’s place to know about her past, but that didn’t stop her. “I enjoyed cooking and baking when I was young. I liked seeing people happy when they ate something I made. My mom went off the deep end when my dad was arrested, so I had to cook for her all the time. It was exhausting and ruined it for me.” Just like the rest of her childhood.

She couldn’t find joy in anything anymore. Kujo, Scott, Nathan, Henry, Charlie, the kids at the restaurant—she loved it all. But those things were gone, now. “I don’t like it as much as I used to, now.”

“What if we cooked together? Make a new meaning for it? Cooking with the one who loves you would make it more enjoyable; don’t you think?”

_“Doing it with someone you love makes it more enjoyable.”_

_“And I love you. You love me, don’t you?”_

“I—“ She didn’t know what to say. Did William love her? He said he did. Then again, so did **he**. “I don’t know.”

The incident in the back room, and in the party room…

Her father.

Gemma dropped the plastic wares onto the table and she shook her head rapidly. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, nearly hard enough to draw blood. “No. No. No, I don’t-“

With a whimper, Gemma laid her forehead against the wooden table, as if to protect herself—to hide herself from the world. “Pl-please don’t-“

William was quick to act. He made his way around the table and knelt at her side. “Take deep breaths, Love. Everything is fine. You’re safe here.” He reached out to take her hands, trying to coax her to loosen her grip. “No one can hurt you here.”

_Lies._

“No! Don’t touch me!” The slightest touch of William’s hands sent her mind into a blind panic, quickly pulling her hands away and recoiling from his touch altogether. When she looked at him though, he was still there—William, not her father, kneeling at her side with a pressed smile. “No—w-wait-“ Her voice went quiet.

_“You’re safe here.”_

What was happening anymore?

What was real anymore? She didn’t understand anything.

“William…”

She needed him. He was the only thing that felt real—no, he **was** real.

With a burst of energy, she wrapped her arms tight around his waist.

_He smells nice._

William wasn’t **him**.

“I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.”

_If he got mad, would he hurt you again?_

William hummed again, and his hand fell if onto the top of her head. “It’s alright, Love. I’m not mad at you. You know it’s me, that’s all that matters.”

His voice was oddly soothing, and the way he stroked her hair, the hum in his chest—it helped calm her, slowly but surely.

“I’m afraid of him,” she finally admitted, hands fisting the back of his shirt. “I’m… I’m always afraid he’s going to come back and hurt me again.” Even he’s dead. “S-sometimes, I’m reminded of him, and I get scared all over again.” William’s shirt started to become damp with the tears she could no longer hold back, sticking to her wet face. “I don’t want him to hurt me anymore. I’m so exhausted and scared all the time, I just want it to be over with.”

“Thanks quite alright, Love.” William continued to comfort her, fingers combing and gently tugging free the tangles in her hair from her bath. “You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore. I won’t let anyone hurt you here, I’ll protect you. You don’t have to worry. Rely on me.”

“I feel like a failure—"

“Gemma.” His voice was light, but held a firm edge, and his hands moved to cup her face. She wanted to hide from him, her face wet and tear-stained and burning with shame, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “You’re not a failure.”

Her lip quivered, and she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Do you mean that?” William was being awfully nice. She didn’t believe him before, but he was proving to her over and over again that his words weren’t just that—empty words. He wanted her to rely on him. He comforted her and even took the time to bathe her and feed her.

He couldn’t be that bad.

She really did have the wrong idea of him.

“I really mean that, Love. I know that.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Before, the fact he kissed her forehead would have disgusted her. Now, she couldn’t help the slight feeling of… pride, almost, that blossomed within her chest.

“Me and you, we’ll be a happy family.”

Maybe her dreams were still just within her grasp. Maybe she could work with this. She could settle for this. She could be happy with him.

She just needed to give him the chance. He loved her. He said so.

She didn't have anything to lose.

“A happy family… I’ve always wanted that.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW so first of all, baby's first smut so have mercy on me pls  
> this was originally one big chapter i made into 2 small chapters bc it was too emotionally draining to have it all in one big chapter so
> 
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD:  
> Rape/noncon, age regression, PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of pregnancy  
> there's a whole lot happening here.  
> Smut is marked with >>> so be prepared or skip it, it's not feel good smut

_Starting today, the pizzeria was under investigation. It wouldn’t be long before they got to me._

_I had to get my plans together and leave Hurricane as soon as possible._

_The police wouldn’t find me, and they wouldn’t find her, either._

_I wouldn’t let them find her. I wouldn’t let them take away everything I’ve worked for._

_I deserved this much. I deserved this after all this world has put me through._

_I wouldn’t allow it to rip everything away from me again._

~???? 1987~

William wasn’t home.

The clock by his bedside read 2:30PM, and she was alone; the house was quiet and empty, and lonely.

_He left without you._

She wrapped her arms around his pillow and burrowed into it. It smelled like him. At least then she could pretend he was there, that she wasn’t drowning in crippling loneliness.

_An hour ticked by._

She hated this.

_Another hour._

She wished she had someone to talk to. Her heart ached from the weight of her loneliness. If Kujo were around, he would cheer her up.

_Another hour._

Wasn’t there something she could do? Her stomach rumbled, and she found herself curling in on herself in hopes to silence her grumbling stomach. The cuff around her ankle clattered against the bedframe.

At least he moved her from the basement to his bed. It was more comfortable.

The clock read 5:34PM. William still wasn’t home. What was taking him so long?

This was agonizing. She wanted nothing more than to just end it. End the suffering, end the pain and the fear. She would if she could.

Nothing to occupy herself with until he got back.

William didn’t like her wandering around anyway. Despite all the complicated locks he installed onto the doors leading to her freedom, he was apprehensive about leaving her alone unchecked. That’s why she had Fredbear. Not the one he’d originally given her; this one was different somehow. He told her it used to be a baby monitor for his youngest son—for Cassidy—with a camera and even a microphone.

She knew he wasn’t watching now, but it still made her nervous, especially as Fredbear’s eyes seemed to watch her as if it were truly aware of her presence—two white pinpricks in an abyss of black.

She knew where the key was, but he would get angry if he found out she was wandering on her own again. She could still vaguely feel his hand gripping her throat, her body slamming into the table, his hand in her hair. It was her fault though. She shouldn’t have pulled his chain as much as she did.

He wouldn’t have done those things if she didn’t make him mad. He loved her. He told her so.

Still, she didn’t want to see him angry again.

When Gemma woke again, it was to the feeling of a hand stroking her hair. It wasn’t unwelcome, especially not after the day she’s had. She sighed and leaned into his palm.

It was gentle, but any second, he could snatch her by her hair because she did something bad while he was away. She didn’t do anything bad though, at least she didn’t think so.

Today, William was dressed to impress, with a light grey suit and a violet dress shirt underneath. His normal grey tie had been cleaned, worn tight around his neck, and his once greasy hair freshly washed. She had to wonder what the occasion was—a job interview? Not with him being accused—and rightfully so—of murder. Child murder, at that.

He leaned down to capture her lips in a short kiss. It wasn’t new, but the feeling of his lips on hers still made her uncomfortable, so much so she never bothered to attempt to return his kisses. William wasn’t phased by it, or didn’t seem to be. Perhaps it annoyed him from the way his lips pressed together after every kiss, in the way his fingers twitched against her as if he wanted to grab her—

William was the only one left for her. The only one who would love someone broken like her.

Scott was gone now. She had no one left but William. He cared for her and—

“Sorry I was gone so long, Love. I had to run some errands in the next town over. Could you ever forgive me?” He smiled, his voice as mirthful as she’d ever heard it.

—and he looked so happy when he looked at her. It was an unusual look on him than what she was used to, but it wasn’t bad by any means.

“Maybe.”

“I have some things I think will make up for it.” He grabbed her hand and slowly stood from the edge of the bed, pulling her along to sit upright. “But first, close your eyes.”

Anxiety. Gemma bit her lip, but slowly brought her hands up over her eyes. She never really liked surprises like this; what if he was playing a prank on her?

A bag rustled at her feet. He laid something across her lap—fabric. A sleeve fell and brushed against her knee.

“Alright, Love. You can open your eyes now.”

What lay on her lap was a simple, but nonetheless beautiful gown, made of a lavender crepe fabric. It was floor length, with long sleeves and a deep neckline to show off her back. He seemed to really like the color purple, seeing as he wore it a lot. And now a purple dress.

“Wow,” Gemma breathed as she examined the dress in her hands. How much did he pay for this? “You really like the color purple.”

“My favorite color, the color of power and ambition. Go on, let’s put it on.”

“What for?”

“I was waiting to surprise you, but I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know.” William kissed her forehead. She felt her stomach churn. “I’ve secured a new job and a new house. Starting this weekend, we’ll be moving away from Hurricane forever. We’ll have a new life together away from here.”

Moving away from Hurricane… forever.

She’s always wanted to get out, but with William?

_No way out. No way out._

“W-where?” She finally asked.

“Out East in Colorado. It’s a beautiful home in the mountains only an hour drive from town. You’re going to love it. And it’s the perfect place for us to start a family.”

Children. A family…

Her pregnancy test.

Should she tell him? Should she wait?

She didn’t know the answer to anything.

“So for now,” William continued, “Let us enjoy tonight. We’ll have a nice dinner together, and _then_ ,” His fingers brushed along the side of her neck, and she shivered under his touch. “And then I’ll show you just how much I love you.”

She didn’t like the sound of that, but how could she say no?

Maybe it would be best to wait.

“Now, let’s get this dress on you, alright?”

She didn’t need his help getting dressed. She could do it herself, but she wouldn’t argue with him as he stood her up and lifted the sweaty t-shirt up and over her head and she was left bare before him. By this point, she had gotten used to it, and she didn’t so much as flinch even when William’s eyes landed on the flesh of her hips and her thighs.

“You are going to look absolutely ravishing, my dear.” To him, it was a compliment, but to Gemma, it was a reminder.

The dress fit snuggly and accentuated every curve of her body, including the chub of her stomach. It curtained her bare feet and it complimented her skin well enough but complimented the purple of his dress shirt even more. Her unbrushed hair hung over her shoulders, and William gently worked every knot and tangle out with his bare hands.

It felt like she was playing dress up. A mere doll for him to do with as he pleased.

“How about some drinks before we eat?” In William’s hands were two glasses, if Gemma were to guess, of champagne, telling by the open bottle on the countertop behind him. In all honesty, Gemma never had alcohol before. Not only was it technically illegal for her to drink, but she never really felt the desire to do so.

She stood before him in the kitchen; William certainly had done an excellent job in doing the kitchen up for her. It was almost spotless and alight with candles, roses—romantically cliché. When William handed her a glass, Gemma shakily reached out to take the slender neck between her fingers.

“W-William, I’m… I’m not old enough to drink,” she said with a short laugh.

No, she wasn’t worried about the possible pregnancy—the baby likely growing within her at that moment. But the act of drinking itself made her nervous. How would she feel? Was she a lightweight?

“A little drink wouldn’t hurt, Love,” William tried to reason with her; he leaned against the counter and took a sip from his own glass, as if egging her on to follow his lead. “Just a sip is all you need. Loosen up a little.”

She supposed… a little sip wouldn’t hurt.

The glass trembled as she raised it to her lips, slowly, and William watched her with a mischievous grin—he knew something she didn’t.

The moment the smallest traces of champagne touched her tongue, she gulped it down. It burned her throat—not terribly, but enough to notice. Worse than that, it tasted terrible. Why would anyone willingly drink that stuff? Her face twisted with disgust and she quickly set the glass down onto the counter in front of her.

“Good girl. Now, onto the main course. Shall we?”

. . . >>>>>

“Will-iam—“ Gemma’s voice was unsteady as William brought his lips away from hers; a low rumble resonated within his chest all from the way she said his name so salaciously. Her arms looped around his neck weakly—how did she get here? One minute they were enjoying dinner together, and the next, he couldn’t keep his hands off of her.

Her mind was foggy, but excited and giddy all at once.

“That’s a good girl,” he mumbled, the heat of his breath on her neck, and Gemma shivered as his fingers trailed down her stomach, hot and heavy on her hips, to then hike her dress up her hips. His lips kissed her neck as he finally hoisted the dress over her head to display her body to him once again without so much as a bra and panties to shield her from him.

The head of his clothed cock rubbed up against her aching heat and she gasped, tossing her head back and pushing back against him—William **snarled**. He grabbed both of her wrists, tiny and dainty in his hands, and held them down to the bed in a vice grip.

Gemma froze.

“W-William?” She whimpered. She wasn’t enjoying this anymore.

“Shh,” he tried to soothe her, massaging her sore wrists with calloused thumbs but it did little to settle the racing of her heart. “You want this so much. I’ll make you feel good, Love.”

 _No_ , this didn’t feel good anymore.

She fought against his hands pinning her to the bed, but he only pressed on harder, harder and harder until it felt like her wrists would snap under the force.

William switched, holding her down with one hand to reach for the belt around his hips. It wound around her wrists, tighter and tighter—

“I wouldn’t need to do this if you were good for me.”

_“It’s the only way to keep you from fighting me, baby.”_

_“If you were a good girl, daddy wouldn’t need to tie you up.”_

No. No, she hated this. She hated being tied up. What did she do to deserve it this time?

The feeling of her hands bound—she was there again.

Brain fog. Confusion. She could barely recall what was happening, or where she was.

Where was Henry? She needed Henry—needed to tell him what was going on.

She needed to see Nathan and Henry again.

William sat up to take off his coat in a hurry, followed by his dress shirt and slacks that soon followed her dress on the floor, and he leaned down to meet her lips into another heated kiss, Gemma shook her head rapidly.

The way he touched her made her uncomfortable.

“M-Mr. Afton—” She spoke, a voice meeker than that of a mouse. “Wh-where’s Henry? I—I need to talk… to Henry.”

“Henry can’t talk to you, Love,” He answered quickly—he didn’t even seem phased by her words as he caressed her body with hands hot and heavy against her skin, over her breasts to tweak her nipples between his fingers, down the curve of her waist and down her hips to knead her plump thighs in his hands.

_He’s keeping you away from them._

“Please—please let me talk to him, I…I—” Her breathing became labored, as if she were struggling to breathe, and fighting against the belt around her wrists to no avail. “I just want to let him know I’m okay—!” 

Gemma choked as hands curled around her throat; the sudden cut-off of air had her mind spinning and panicking with fresh, hot tears on her reddened cheeks. William hovered over her, once again with a look of pure rage and ferocity that terrified her, pressing all of his weight into his hands—onto her throat.

“They won’t know.” He seethed through clenched teeth, “No one **gets** to know. I will be the only man left here for you, and that’s **that**. Do you understand me?”

It was scary. Made her want to look away. Made her want to curl up under her blankets and hide with her stuffed animals to protect her and keep her company, but he wasn’t allowing that. She was stuck there.

When he released her throat, she took in a gasp of air, weeping and sobbing as she nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, sir.” She sounded pathetic, her lips quivering, and her words caught in her constricting throat. She did anything to look away, averting her eyes downwards and avoiding his hardened gaze. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. Please let me go, it hurts.”

William’s eyes softened, but they still held the edge of annoyance that told her he could—would—snap again at any given moment. “Only if you’re good for me, Love. Can you do that?”

She wanted to say no, wanted him to get off of her and never touch her again, but instead, she nodded her head once again in submission. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

_Pathetic._

When he untied her wrists, she didn’t dare move them. She kept them high above her head, afraid of what could happen if she so much as moved a muscle while William had his way with her.

“Doesn’t that feel good, Love?” He whispered against her ear; he rocked his hips against her slow and deep. “So good for me.”

He was taking his time with her when he didn’t get the pleasure to do so the last time. She could feel every dip and ridge, and how the tip pounded against her unprotected cervix—and it hurt, but why did it also feel so good?

William bent down, silencing her choked moans and tortured cries against his lips. And then he pressed against her tight, letting out a sigh of relief as spurts of hot cum stuffed her insides, and then there was silence, save for the sound of her whimpers.

She was dizzy. Nauseous.

_Used. Disgusting._

He pressed one last kiss to her lips, once again silencing her cries of pain as her stomach ached and cramped. “You did so good,” he said. His thumb wiped her dampened cheeks. “I love you. You love me, don’t you?”

 _No_.

“I love you, too.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD:  
> Pregnancy, abortions, suicide attempts, PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome

~???? 1987~

Gemma couldn’t remember anything that happened.

William came home, he brought her back a dress. He gave her a sip of champagne, they ate dinner together, and then… nothing.

Gemma was the first to wake up, with William still curled up behind her, a single arm draped over her waist and the other trapping her against his body by her throat. And when she opened her eyes, it felt like the entire room was spinning, holding her down to the bed and making her stomach contract violently.

She needed to get up and to the bathroom, asap.

She felt sore and weak, with visible bruises on her wrists and her legs but she ignored them, pushing through William’s hold, and making a mad dash for the bathroom across the bedroom.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” William called for her, but he was hot on her tail, pulling his pants up over his hips as he stood in the bathroom doorway.

Gemma sank to her knees, heaving over the toilet bowl with her hair held behind her head.

“Oh dear, I’ll get that for you.” As she retched, William held her hair for her, rubbing her back and her shoulders until there was only clear liquid left and her throat was sore from the stomach acid. “What’s the matter, Love? You’re not unwell, are you?”

 _You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. With his child._ That was the only thing that came to her mind.

_Tell him. Now._

Wouldn’t it be best for her to go to a doctor? She didn’t know if she could do it.

“I need to see a doctor,” she said pitifully, leaning her head against the seat. She could smell the rancid stench of vomit, but what was the point in flushing if it was just going to come back up anyway?

William shook his head. “No doctor, Gemma. You’re likely just feeling under the weather. You can rest it off.”

“I think—” It was now or never.

At least, if he knew, maybe he would be more lenient with her… maybe he would let her see a doctor.

Something. Anything.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

She could practically see the gears turning in his head. And then his eyes lit up and he smiled wide looking like a kid on Christmas morning when they saw how many gifts were under the tree.

How she wished she wasn’t. Not with his child—not after what he did. What he did to Charlie. What was she going to do when—if she got a positive result? William was taking care of her and he loved her, but would he kill their child? Would he hit them out of anger and frustration?

To be fair on that second one, she did kick him.

But then William’s face fell. His look of excitement quickly turned into one of worry, as if he just realized something important.

“I’ll run out to get some tests, then. Just—just stay here, alright?” William got dressed quickly, his hair messy and his t-shirt and pants wrinkled—unusual for him, but he didn’t pay any mind. “I won’t be long, so hang in there for me.” He left her with a kiss to her head, and then he was gone. She heard the front door close, and then the sound of his car taking off from the driveway.

What was that about? And what was he so worried about? Was it the champaign?

Her throat was dry, and her stomach twisted violently.

She should have asked him for cold water before he left. She didn’t have the energy or the strength to walk to the kitchen and back.

She felt terrible, and the anxiety only made her stomach feel worse. What was she to do? She didn’t trust herself with a child, not while William was the father.

She could run away. Find Sarah, her boss, Henry, someone—she didn’t care who.

She didn’t know how to work the locks on the doors.

What if she miscarried? Taking pills, smoking, drinking—could she live with the guilt?

What if…

What if she ended things? Killed herself and the child. Sure, she could settle with William, but a child didn’t deserve to be subjected to this. She would be doing it a favor. And best of all, she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt afterward.

Gemma didn’t realize how long she had been sitting there for, stuck in her anxious thoughts until she heard the front door open once again.

How long had he been gone for? Hours or a few minutes?

“Hey there, Love,” He greeted her when he came back to the room. He held a plastic bag in one hand, and knowing what was inside—

She was going to throw up again.

William’s presence was insulting. Mocking.

_Leave._

_Leave me alone._

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” She didn’t want to take them. She despised the idea of what the result could be—would be. She despised the idea of looking at the test and seeing a positive on the front.

Scott should have been the father.

“You should have let me know sooner,” he said—it was almost accusatory, the way he said it. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have pushed you to drink at all.”

“Sorry.”

“From now on—look at me.”

_He’s angry. He’s going to hit you again._

Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him. She felt weak, and when she tried to lay her head back down, William gripped her chin; he forced her to look at him, even as his face twisted in anger and annoyance and she wanted nothing more than to look away.

“From now on, you won’t be hiding these things from me, will you, Love?”

She didn’t answer at first, to afraid to get out as much of a word.

“Will you?”

“No,” She finally answered; William’s tight-pressed frown turned into a smirk.

“Good girl.”

He left go; Gemma, in defeat, folded her arms across the seat of the toilet and laid her back down.

She wanted to cry, but she already felt sick enough.

She wanted to go home.

This was her home now.

“Here.” William set the bag on the floor next to her. She couldn’t look at it, much less touch it. “I’ll give you some privacy then. I’ll just be in the bedroom if you need me.”

William gave her one last glance before he clicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

It was odd, really.

She remembered her mother once telling her how happy she was when she found out she was pregnant. How she loved Gemma the moment she got the result.

Back then, Gemma believed her. She believed anything her mother told her. As a child, she always thought she would be the same. She would look at her first result with happiness—excitement. She would jump for joy and she would tell her husband, and they would go out on a date to celebrate.

Instead, she felt contempt. Hatred, resentment.

Gemma couldn’t say she felt the same way her mother did.

Gemma held the test tight to her chest when she exited the bathroom, her complexion pale and thoughts whirring in her head a mile a second. William sprang up from the bed to join her on the other side of the room and he held her tenderly, as if she were delicate china. “Are you alright?”

“I—” Gemma sputtered. Her throat tightened and her stomach—fuck, her stomach. This was Hell. Pregnancy was Hell. “I don’t think I can do this.”

That was the only answer William needed. “What do you mean, Love? You said you wanted a family— **we** wanted a family, right?” His hands settled on her shoulders, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

_End it. End it now._

“This is the best thing that could happen to us. We’re going to be a happy family. It will be perfect.”

 _Good for who? Perfect for who?_ This was far from perfect for her. There were too many things for her to consider, too many things she had to worry about. She couldn’t deal with it all.

“I-I do want those things, but…” _Just not with you._ “I don’t want this—”

_There’s only one way out of this._

Gemma shoved the test into his chest and raced to the kitchen. It still looked the same from last night, though the candles and the roses that once made it feel romantic were melted and dead.

Just like she would be.

“Gemma!”

Gemma seized one of their steak knives from the sink, the very one she used to cut into meat just last night. William stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and his eyes landed on the knife in her hands.

“Gemma, Love, put down the knife.”

“I don’t want a family with you. I don’t want a child with you! I can’t _fucking_ trust you!”

“Gemma—”

“You—look at the lives you took, the lives you ruined. Don’t you feel any remorse? How am I supposed to know you wouldn’t kill our child too? How am I supposed to trust you?”

His face visibly darkened. He wasn’t anticipating her to bring up his past, clearly, much less know about it.

She held the knife up to her arm. The knife shook in her hand. Could she really do this? “If I die with it, at least I won’t have to feel the guilt. But I’ll die happy knowing that I saved them from you.”

“Gemma, think about this, Love,” He uttered gently, bringing his hands up to his head, as if to show her he wasn’t a threat. “I love you. Haven’t I proven that? I wouldn’t kill our child, why would I? I loved my kids. Haven’t you ever considered why I did what I have done? That I did it out of pain? That I was hurt over what I lost? I’m trying to change for the better. I can’t do that without you, Love. Don’t take something away from me like this, it will break me again.” His voice wavered, and his face twisted in pain, confusion—it made her waver, just for a moment.

It made sense, but it was no excuse for what he’d done.

Perhaps he really was just a broken man—a broken man who needed her help to do better, to be better. She didn’t love him as he did her, but she could come to love him.

She could be his voice of love and reason. She could help him to atone for what he’s done—

_No. He’s using you. He’s never going to change. It ends here._

The blade pressed into her skin.

“I have nightmares about it now.”

Gemma grimaced.

“I couldn’t sleep at night. It’s why I took the night shift—may as well make some extra cash for my troubles. Gemma, you are the only one that can help me.”

The knife clattered to the floor. Trembling hands wound through her hair as she sank down onto the cold vinyl floor. Cries shook her body, echoing through the house and piercing the silence. “I’m-I'm sorry.”

With a relieved sigh, William came to her side, picking up the knife and laying it down at the bottom of the sink. It was pitiable, listening to her cries. He knelt down beside her and he pulled her into a tight embrace; she gripped his t-shirt as she cried against him.

"I promise you, I will be the best father for them that I can be.”

. . .

“What the fuck do you mean she’s **dead**?!”

“Scott, calm down, you’re overworking yourself—”

“W-we’re sorry sir, but we… we haven’t seen any trace of her, and since the cameras were out—”

“Officer, with all due respect, we have told you where we believe her to be. We believe her to be with William Afton.”

“Y-yes sir, we are still waiting for the search warrant.”

“And how much longer is that going to take?”

“Hopefully only a few more days—b-but if she’s with who you say she is, she’s very likely to be dead.”

“It’s been **two weeks**!”

Sarah could see Scott was about to blow another fuse. With his injuries, he couldn’t afford to be stressing himself out too much. “Thank you, Officer,” she said, “we appreciate your time, but we would like to be alone now, if that’s okay.”

“Y-yes ma’am, my apologies.”

The officer stepped out of the hospital room, leaving Scott, Henry, and Sarah alone. Sarah sat next to Henry on the couch with a defeated sigh. What if Gemma really was dead? “I feel like this is my fault. I should have trusted her judgment about William from the beginning. She was always so awkward around him, but I just thought—and I shouldn’t have left her alone that night. If I hadn’t, she might still be here.”

“Now, now, don’t go blamin’ yourself, kid,” Henry grumbled, “We’ll find her.”

“The police think she’s dead,” Scott deadpanned, lying back in the hospital bed with a pained expression. His injuries must still be giving him trouble. “What else can we do?”

Sarah leaned back on the couch. White ceilings, drywall texture that she could barely make out shapes and faces in. There had to be something they could do. Search parties were already being put together but something more than that.

There was nothing. Not even a shred of evidence that would lead them to her. All they could do was show up on William's doorstep, but who knows what he could do. Or would do.

It seemed that for now, there really was nothing for them to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're reaching the end  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD:  
> Stockholm syndrome, references to domestic abuse, depression, anxiety, suicide/attempted suicide, William being gross and weird but what's new
> 
> Comments are much appreciated :')  
> If I've made typos/mistakes or you see missing words please let me know!

~???? 1987~

“Are you ready to go?”

Today was the day. The day she would be saying goodbye to Hurricane forever. Gemma didn’t have much to take with her, only the small amount of clothing William bought for her in the time she’s been here and the clothes on her back. 

Her stomach had grown within the last few days—small and barely noticeable, but she noticed. And William did, too. She would admit though, it felt nice for him to be doting on her.

“Yeah.”

“Alright then. Let us head out, then. It will be quite the drive. If you need anything, just let me know.”

She nodded.

The house looked the same as when she got here. They were leaving everything behind, save for their personals. It didn’t come as a surprise, really. He wanted to start over completely, with a brand-new house and new furnishings. To her knowledge, he had the place newly furnished through the week, saving them time to move in.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know what kind of furnishings he purchased, though. They spent hours upon hours flipping through different catalogs and picking out things they both liked. He even had the new nursery decorated, despite her not being far along yet, in his excitement. Although he was hoping for a little girl, he said, they could keep it gender-neutral until the baby was born.

But Gemma still had her doubts. She knew William loved her, but she was scared of his anger getting the better of him again. It had been a while since the last time—and the first time—he hit her, but… it was as if she were walking on eggshells.

She never did anything to make him mad, or at the very least, tried not to.

It would be her first time stepping foot outside his house. She could get away. Knock on a neighbor’s door and ask for help. She could see Henry, Nathan, Sarah, and Marcus again—

It was nighttime. The moon was bright and high in the sky and the nightly spring breeze felt good on her face.

_Go, now. Find help._

But when she looked around her—searching for anywhere to run to—there was nothing. Nothing but cedar trees that swayed in the breeze and the crickets that sang into the night.

She truly was stuck.

Nowhere to run. No way out.

William took her hand tenderly, and when he looked at her, he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world, with soft eyes full of adoration for her.

He loved her.

Had he always looked at her like that? Why did she never notice? Why did she think he was creepy?

“Come on, Love. It’s time for us to go.”

. . .

_“You can’t hide from me forever.”_

_“Mommy,” her baby sniffled into her chest, “Daddy is scaring me.”_

_Gemma huddled under one of the party tables, the tablecloth shielding them from outside view. It was dark, save the lights flashing from the stage. She hugged him close, her baby boy, no older than six-years-old. So tiny and frail and he looked just like his father, with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes; as much as it pained her to look at him, she loved him. More than anything._

_He was her baby._

_“It’s gonna be okay,” She whispered; her hand, trembling with fear, found the back of his head. “Stay quiet, it will be over soon.” But she couldn’t guarantee that—William was stubborn. If she knew anything about him, it was that he would keep at it until he found them. She just had to be clever. Find a way out without him catching them._

_William laughed—a deep, maniacal laughter that made her blood run cold. It was the sound of a monster—a killer. “I can taste… the fear on your breath.”_

**_I am not afraid. I am not afraid._ **

_“I’ll find you eventually. Love.”_

**_No._ **

**_Stay away._ **

_Gemma could see the bottoms of yellow, animatronic feet walking around the table. She couldn’t move, glued to the floor and all she could do was watch._

**_No way out._ **

_“And when I do, no one will be here to save you.” He rounded the corner until he stood at the foot of the table. Fuck, he was so close._

_“No one, not even Scott, can save you from **me**.” _

_The tablecloth was lifted and there was William—she couldn’t see his face behind the mask of the Spring_ _Bonnie suit, but she could see the smile in his eyes, in the way his eyes turned into crescents._

_“Found you.”_

_William grabbed the boy’s arm in a death grip; he cried in pain, and his tiny hands gripped and stretched the fabric of her shirt until it gave way and fell from his hands._

_“Mom—Mommy—!”_

_Gemma reached out to him, only to be met with nothing as William pulled him away from her. “No—No, William, please don’t take him away from me!”_

_William led away a thrashing boy in one hand and Gemma came out from under the table. Something—there had to be something she could do._

_Gemma chased after them; she grabbed her baby’s hand and tried to pull him back. William seethed—he glared at her. Eyes filled with anger. Hate. They no longer held the love for her they once did._

_He raised a giant, yellow paw. It landed across the side of her head, knocking her to the hard, cold tile floors. Gemma was left stunned, pain shooting through her skull._

_“Mommy-!”_

_“I don’t think you understand,” William said, “He’ll learn his lesson, and he’ll learn the hard way.”_

_She was weak._

**_Nothing you can do._ **

**_No way out._ **

_William led her son away, kicking and screaming, towards the stage. There stood the original animatronics, save for Fredbear—the classic Freddy, Bonnie, Foxy, and Chica in all their glory. Their jaws were hung wide, with blood caked and dried into matted, faux fur._

_“William—” She cried pathetically, slowly sitting up from the dirty floor. “Please—please don’t hurt him.” She would take his punishment if she must—anything to keep him from getting hurt. “He’s a child.”_

_She watched in horror—her son being lifted into the Freddy suit and he screamed in pain until his throat was raw and he couldn’t scream anymore. His cries for help shook her._

_“You can’t! William, stop, it will kill him!”_

_But she was powerless._

_She wasn’t strong enough to save her own son._

_What kind of mother was she?_

_“Mommy! Help! Help, I-I’m scared, I don’t want to die-!”_

_And then it happened. His body was crushed in a mess of animatronic parts. Their son didn’t scream anymore, gargling and choking on his own blood as he bled out from within the suit. The blood pooled onto the stage, and down onto the floor._

_Their son was dead._

_“Cheer up, my dear,” William said as he came to stand by her side. “Children are replaceable. Nothing was lost.”_

_“You’re a monster.”_

_“Perhaps. But you’re stuck with this monster, Love, until the end of your days.”_

Gemma woke in the car. It was still dark out but there was nothing. Just rocks, mountains in the distance, and vast deserts. The clock read 3:43 AM. They still had a long way to go—another 6 hours. Gemma rubbed the sleep from her eyes, only to find her hand wet. She had been crying.

_“I wouldn’t kill our child, why would I? I loved my kids.”_

_“Haven’t you ever considered why I did what I have done? That I did it out of pain? That I was hurt over what I lost?”_

William may have been a murderer, but he wouldn’t kill their child, right?

_He lied to you._ But it was just a dream. She was just paranoid.

_He’s never going to change._ _Never going to change._

_He’ll kill them the same way he killed us._

“Us” …?

Why… why were they still bothering her?!

“Leave me alone—Ah!” Gemma cried; she held her head in her hands as static filled her mind, piercing static that made her head throb in agony.

_Save them. Save us._

Why were they doing this to her?

William’s hand touched her leg, and just like that, the static stopped, gone without a trace. Slowly, she let go of her head. “What’s the matter, Love?” The sound of William’s voice shook her, and Gemma laid her hands across her stomach—her child. 

“I—I-“

“Sounds like you were having a bad dream. Do you need anything?”

_Don’t forget about us._

Gemma stifled the tears threatening her vision, and she shook her head.

“N-No, I’m… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We’re about to hit the next town soon. It wouldn’t hurt to stop for food or drinks on the way.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m sure, just… I’m just tired. And a little nervous, I think.”

“Alright, well…” He didn’t take his hand off of her thigh, and although it made her all kinds of uncomfortable—especially after that dream—she wasn’t going to risk upsetting him by moving him away. “Try to get some sleep. We have another six hours to go.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. I’ve gotten less sleep.”

“Okay, I’ll… I’ll try.” Gemma laid back in the passenger seat and gazed out the window. Stars lit up the night sky—no light pollution to kill them from view. They were a beautiful distraction from everything that just happened.

“I love you.”

_He’s lying to you. He doesn’t love you. He’s a monster._

_Please leave me alone._

She didn’t know what thoughts were her own anymore.

Gemma sighed and closed her eyes. “I love you, too.”

. . .

“You haven’t told me much about this place. What is it like? How many rooms?” Gemma peeked out from behind her fingers, excited and giddy to see the new place they would call home. But she was also nervous. She didn’t like these kinds of surprises. She didn’t like not being able to see anything, completely at his mercy. But she would comply, just for him.

The path up the mountain was rocky, and she barely caught sight of the trees and the passing stream before William spoke up.

“No peaking, Love. I want it to be a surprise!”

This felt good. It was lighthearted. They were happy—he was happy, and laughing with her as she pouted and covered her eyes again.

“But alright, I’ll tell you… It really is a lovely place. It’s… small, but big enough to raise a family. Two stories, with a garden out front and a lake out back. The living room has beautiful natural lighting with open windows. It’s got an interior balcony looking over the living room. Two bedrooms, a bathroom. Secluded. It’s about a fifty minute to an hour drive to the nearest town. A decent school system—not the best given it’s a small town, but we can manage—ah, here it is. You’re going to love it. And no looking yet. Keep your eyes covered.”

The car came to a halt. Her entire body tingled, from her head to her toes and when William opened the passenger side door to help her out of the car, her excitement skyrocketed—she wanted to see it already.

_No way out._

_If he gets angry again, you’ll have nowhere to go._

_No one to turn to._

And then dread.

“Careful—” William guided her up a small set of stairs onto a wooden patio—or at least sounded like wood, and then there was the plushness of carpet under her white Oxford shoes. “Alright, Love, you can look now.”

She heard the click of a door behind her and slowly, she uncovered her eyes.

“Oh my God.”

“What do you think, Love?”

It was just as he described it to her, and every little piece of furniture she helped pick out, from the couches to the smaller things like the paintings on the walls, paintings she knew at some point would be replaced with family photos.

It was comfortable. Humble. It was...

It wasn’t home. At least, not for her. It was in the mountains with nowhere for her to go.

No one to talk to. While William was away, she would be here. Quiet and lonely. Here, she would never get to chase after her dreams. She wanted to move to the city—to go to university and help other kids.

This was her life now.

“Wow—it’s—” She was at a loss for words.

“And now, for my final surprise to you…”

Another? “Do I need to cover my eyes again?”

“No. Just turn around, Love.”

“Uh, okay.” When Gemma turned around, William stood before her, looking more exhausted than she had seen him in a while, but he smiled, and between his fingers was a single, sterling silver diamond ring—a wedding band, with sixteen round diamonds held into the band with silver prongs.

Any woman should be happy to get engaged. To get married, but…

She wasn’t.

“Starting today, we begin a new life together, you and me, and our soon-to-be child. There is no longer a connection between you and Gemma Davis. Now, you are an Afton—my wife, Mrs. Afton. All you will ever be.”

“Wait—” Knots twisted her stomach as William took her left hand and slipped the ring onto her ring finger; it fit perfectly, and it was gorgeous, although it did look old. Vintage, if nothing else—she wondered how he even had the money for this after buying a house and all new furniture—but the fact she didn’t even get a choice in the matter… it didn’t sit right.

She hated the way it fit so perfectly on her finger.

This was wrong. Everything felt wrong.

“Mrs. Gemma Afton. I quite like the sound of that, don’t you?”

Not at all.

. . .

~???? 1987~

It happened again. The nightmares. They kept coming. They wouldn’t stop anymore.

The farther along she got, the more frequent they became. It was always the same, or at least with small variations. Sometimes, she would try to fight back. Others, he would kill her too, or she would sit back and watch.

Sometimes, she could still feel the blood as it splattered on her face, and the taste of his blood on her lips.

But every time, she was helpless to stop him. From stopping William from killing their child. Her son.

It was a living nightmare. His screams, they were the only thing on her mind anymore. It was all she could hear when she thought about her child—her baby boy—being brought into the world.

His screams of pain, screams for help as William murdered him in cold blood.

The hopelessness. The despair. The anxiety. It weighed on her heavily. She wasn’t the same person anymore, and William didn’t even seem to notice. She knew they were showing her these things on purpose—to scare her away from him. To warn her. They didn’t want her to forget what he did to them, yet in the process…

They were making her resent them. They didn’t even realize the torment they were putting her through—the trauma. Watching her own child die every night.

Gemma didn’t keep track of the days. She couldn’t. She simply lost count and William didn’t seem to want her to know, either. But her stomach had grown considerably—it had to have been a couple of months, but as for that exact number, Gemma didn’t know.

The ring on her finger sat cold against her stomach as she laid her hand across the bump. When she first took that test, she felt hate and resentment. She couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world as William as the father. Now—now she understood how her mother felt, or at least the way she said she felt. Gemma loved her baby. She would do anything to protect them—to protect them from their father.

William stopped her before. He told her he loved his kids—he would never kill them, at least not on purpose. That he needed her help to be a better man, a better person. That by taking her life—her child’s life—she was taking everything away from him again.

She couldn’t tell if those words were genuine or mere manipulation.

Maybe they were right. William couldn’t be trusted.

She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t handle the anxiety—the anticipation of waiting to see what kind of father William would be.

If not for her, then to save her baby. And this time, William wasn’t around to stop her.

Gemma glanced over to the bottle of sleeping pills at her bedside. They were originally prescribed to William, dated for mid-1986. If she just downed the bottle, it would be all over. The pain, the suffering. Her baby wouldn’t have to live through this. And best of all, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty for it.

She would only need half the bottle for the best results.

“Wait for me, Scott… Charlie. I hope I’ll be seeing you soon.”

It ends here.

Even after six months, I was always excited and happy to come home. Got impatient, even.

Gemma needed me now. She relied on me for everything, and with a child on the way, it was perfect—everything I wanted.

Almost.

Gemma was the perfect wife and an even better housewife. And she was always beautiful, no doubt—glowing, rosy skin, soft hair, soft lips, and pretty hazel eyes. She had an even better body that begged to be bred, if a little chubby. She could be skinnier, but the extra weight was cute on her, so how could I resist? The perfect wife to mold with my own two hands.

She made breakfast and sent me off with a kiss every morning. Every night, I would come home to a clean house and dinner ready, laundry done, and neatly put away. She was quiet and never argued. She obeyed me and always let me have my way.

But as the months went by, she changed.

She hardly slept. In fact, she started taking my old sleeping pills to help her sleep at night. She didn’t think clearly anymore—food was burned, dishes and laundry not done, and oftentimes, I had to call for her more than once to gain her attention.

It was… frustrating. Many times have I had the urge to let my anger get the better of me again—to yell at her, or to hit her, but I couldn’t, not when she was like this. Who knows what she would do?

And especially not while she was carrying a child—my child.

Nonetheless, I was simply happy to see her. Everything I ever wanted, right there in my bed. I had to remind myself that this was only temporary. Things would get better, and she would have a child to occupy her time with.

Within the last few months, I have grown used to the house being dark and quiet when I came home from work. She would be in bed, lying awake as she awaited my return—I would give her a kiss and then we would make dinner together before heading to bed for the night.

She was sleeping when I entered the bedroom, with her back turned towards the door and lying under the bed covers. She didn’t stir when I sat beside her on the bed, nor when I stroked her hair. It was matted as I combed my fingers through, working out the knots and tangles as I did for her on most days.

She never brushed her hair anymore these days, and so I took it upon myself to do it for her. It was the least I could do, seeing how hard this pregnancy has been on her.

“Hey there, Love.” I waited for her eyes to open as I greeted her, but there was nothing. “Gemma? It’s time to wake up.”

Gemma remained unresponsive. It wasn’t unusual for her to be hard to wake or even for her to be a little confused after taking the pills, but this—this felt different. Her skin was pale, and when I put a hand to her cheek, the warmth I expected wasn’t there.

The bottle of sleeping pills sat on her bedside, under the low light of the table lamp. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to see them there.

I reached across the bed and grabbed the pill container from the end table. I was never good at taking them and had several bottles stored just in case. This has been an older one that I pulled out for her just a few nights ago, but new enough that it should have still been full, granted with only a few pills missing.

Yet, only half the bottle remained.

Panic. It seized me, building and packing tightly together like a snowball tumbling down the mountain.

But also anger. How dare she do this to me? And after all I’ve done for her to make her happy.

I haven’t felt this way for a long time… not since Elizabeth died.

Why—why was this world so adamant on me having **nothing**?. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to watch my family die. The world ripped them away from me once. I wasn’t going to let this world take her away from me—to take my chance of a family—a legacy—away.

I was better than Henry, better than Scott. I deserved so much better

I cradled Gemma’s body in my arms; she was cold and heavy, her breathing had stopped, but there was still the faintest traces of a heartbeat. That was all I needed.

A child could be replaced, but I waited far too long for this—far too long to get Gemma where I had her.

I couldn’t take her to a hospital, that would be too risky. That meant I had to take matters into my own hands and pray that it worked.

“Don’t worry, Love.” I pulled her head close to my chest. She'll be back in my arms again soon, alive and well. I would stop at nothing to make sure of that. This wasn’t the end, not by any means.

Now—now I must claim what is left. “I’ll put you back together again.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end  
> Tw: brainwashing, sexual references/implications, death  
> Comments are appreciated! :')  
> If I've made any errors please let me know!!

_Who was she? Where was she?_

_It was dark, cold. Floating on an abyssal black ocean and looking up at the night sky, seeing the gasses and stars swirl around each other. It was calm, tranquil, but oddly… uncomfortable._

_Was this death?_

_She felt free. For the first time, she didn’t have any worries—if someone was going to hurt her. If someone was watching her. No pain, no worries._

_The water began to envelop her—long, black tendrils wrapped around her body and pulled her under._

**_“I’ll put you back together again.”_ **

_She couldn’t remember where that voice came from._

_Hands—six of them—broke through the surface of the water. They grabbed her wrists, her arms, and pulled against the water that threatened to pull her down—down, down to her demise._

_And then she surfaced again._

_It was different this time—no longer was it the beautiful night sky looking down at her, but rather, it was the popcorn ceiling of a place familiar to her._

_The smell of pizza, the sticky carpet floors, the cheers of children—she knew this place._

_“Gemma!” A little girl looked down at her—she smiled wide, with shimmering blue eyes and tight, yellow curls curtaining over her face. “You’re just in time! Hurry up, it’s Cassidy’s birthday!”_

_Cassidy’s… birthday?_

_“Hey, wait—!” Slowly, Gemma sat up as the girl giggled and bounded away from her, and then she disappeared into the crowd._

_Gemma stood up quickly to begin making her way through the crowd of people. But it was fake. It was all fake—the sounds, the smells, because when Gemma stood and looked around, it was as if time were at a standstill. The people stood mere hazy shadows, and the cries of children only echoes of the past._

_But then, who was that girl?_

_Gemma pushed passed the crowd, the shadows of silhouettes who didn’t seem the least phased by her pushing them out of her way, and into the main party room. Streamers were hung along the dull walls and the table, and star-shaped party lights illuminating the party room._

_Children sat along the party table—six of them all of varying ages; two on each side and two at each head of the table. Out of all of them, Gemma recognized two of them: Charlie and Cassidy. They each had a slice of vanilla cake, slathered in pink icing, and there was even one more, sitting at the table before an absent seat._

_Cassidy didn’t notice her when she came in—instead, he sat on the floor at the head of the table with his knees up to his chest, crying—sobbing. He didn’t like it here. He never did._

_“Gemma, you’re here!” Charlie turned to greet her; she hopped down from the chair, her little arms wrapping around Gemma’s leg in a hug._

_“We saved a spot for you.” The little girl from earlier said; she pat the seat directly next to her._

_Gemma looked at her curiously. “Who… are you?”_

_“We never did properly introduce ourselves,” said another child—likely the oldest of the bunch, with fluffy, light brown hair and blue eyes._

_“Oh, that’s right! I’m Susie!”_

_“Gabriel. It’s nice to see you again.”_

_Again…_

_The youngest two children sat at the opposite side of the table. A boy no older than nine and the other, seven at the very least._

_The oldest of the two was a young boy with darker skin and dark, curly hair. The youngest, a little boy with red hair and freckles dotting his face. Despite being the apparent youngest, he was so frail, as if he were ill._

_The oldest pouted, crossing his arms and turning his attention away from her. He was definitely the most stubborn out of them. “Jeremy.”_

_“Uhm… Fritz. Sorry for scaring you before.”_

_“Were were—are—the animatronics,” Gabriel spoke, and Susie nodded._

_“We aren’t freed yet, but we’re not in pain anymore. It’s all thanks to you, Gemma.”_

_“Me?” Gemma asked. “What did I do?”_

_“We know you couldn’t do everything yourself,” Charlie spoke, “I’m sorry for putting that much pressure on you. Sometimes, even you need help from others. But now, there’s one more thing for you left to do—for us to do.”_

_“W-what’s that?”_

_Charlie smiled. “To give Cassidy his happiest day. Go on. He’ll be happy to see you.”_

_His happiest day. His birthday—the day that he died._

_It felt as if she were talking back in time. The first time she met Cassidy as a young girl, he had been hiding under the party tables. He was afraid of the animatronics, rightfully so after what happened to his sister._

_And now he saw there. Right in front of her, close enough for her to touch—_

_She kneeled in front of him. “Hey there, Cassidy. Happy birthday.”_

_The boy quieted. His tear-streaked face looked up at her with hints of fear behind his blue eyes. But when they landed on, they widened in shock._

_Her baby. He looked just like him._

_“Gemma-!” Cassidy lunged—his arms wrapped around her body and he pressed against her. “I missed you.”_

_“We’re all here to celebrate with you, Cassidy!” Susie exclaimed, and Cassidy slowly stepped away from Gemma. He looked around the room, empty of everything aside from the party essentials to the streamers, the lights, the party table, and the cake._

_And he smiled._

_“Thank you,” He sniffled. And then he looked at Gemma again, his eyes the brightest she had ever seen them. For the first time in a long time, he looked genuinely happy. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Gemma. It’s not your time yet.”_

_Gemma’s face faltered. “What do you mean?”_

_“You will be waking up soon. But we will be with you. The next time we see each other, it will be your time to follow. And when you do, we will give you your happiest day.”_

_The world faded before her, as did the faces of the children._

_She couldn’t wake up. She didn’t want to go back—not again._

_**“This time, we will protect you, too.”**_

~???? 1987~

Gemma gasped—air filled her chest for the first time before she fell into a steady breath. Slowly—in, and back out. Her chest hurt, as if something heavy was sitting upon her chest. As if water had filled her lungs—but nothing.

This place wasn’t a place she recognized—concrete floors, concrete ceilings. A prison, all over again.

Steel was cold against her back. She was alive—truly alive. But how? Those pills should have put her into a coma, at the least. She raised a hand to her face. Her skin looked the same. Felt the same. And the ring William once gave her still sat nicely on her finger.

Her husband. Her wonderful, loving husband. Her heart swelled with admiration. She didn’t deserve him.

What… what did she do again? And why did she do it? She couldn’t remember.

She couldn’t remember anything.

“There you are, Love. I was wondering when you would wake up again.” William stood at her side looking worse for wear. Prominent eyebags and messy hair, wrinkled clothes. But he smiled at her as if it were the first time he laid eyes on her.

“William—” Gemma tried to sit up, only for William to hold her down with a hand to her chest.

“Slow down there, Love. You’re still recovering.”

“William, what… what happened?”

“Just took a little too many sleeping pills. You were having trouble sleeping at night. Got frustrated and took too many.”

Slowly, her hands found her stomach. She expected there to be a large bump, but there was nothing. Nothing but the little bits of chub on her stomach that she had before.

Her baby. It was gone, as if it never existed in the first place.

“Our baby—”

William quirked a brow at her. “What are you on about?”

“Our baby—I… what happened to it?”

“You were never pregnant, Love. You must be confused.”

“No!” Gemma cried, “I-I… I had a bump and-“

“You dreamed of it, often. You’re just a little confused is all. You were never pregnant. We never had a baby.”

Never… never had a baby? So she… she didn’t kill their baby?

“We’ve been trying for a few months. We’ve been unsuccessful thus far, but… we’ll get there. It will be alright.”

This was wrong. She could have sworn she was pregnant. Her baby. Her baby boy.

“That was all a dream?”

“You were out for a few days,” he said, “wouldn’t surprise me if you did a lot of dreaming in the time you’ve been out of it.”

“What… what did you do?” She felt… different somehow. She didn’t feel herself. There was something missing. “Why… why am I not in the hospital?”

“They would have taken you to a mental facility to be surveilled 24/7. I wasn’t about to let that happen because of a mere accident. If I think I can fix it myself, I will. So… I took it upon myself; did a decent job if I do say so myself. Do you remember anything?”

“Uh—”

“Go on, tell me how we met. When did we get together? Do you remember?”

No, she couldn’t remember. Only one thought came to mind, and slowly but surely, she started putting the pieces together again.

“We… we met at Freddy’s.”

“Good, go on.”

“I fell and hit my head… you took me to the hospital…You cared for me afterwards. You gave me medicine and brought me lunch, and—and then you told me how you felt about me.”

“And when did I first make love to you?”

“That night.”

William grinned. “Good girl. And do you remember why we left Freddy’s? Why we moved here?”

“You wanted to rebuild Afton Robotics under a new name. We thought this would be a good place to raise a family.”

That didn’t seem right. None of this did. Something was wrong.

“Very good, Love. Your head seems to be screwed on tight.”

No, if something was wrong, William would tell her. She trusted him. She trusted him more than anything. As he said, she was just… confused. She would get over it.

“William…”

“Yes, Love?”

She took his hand, her hand much smaller and much more delicate than his—thin, nimble fingers intertwining with his. His hand was warm, and she loved the way his calloused fingers felt against her much softer skin.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for doing something so stupid.”

“Hey—It’s alright,” William stopped the tears before they came, cradling her head to his chest and kissing the crown of her head. “I’m just glad you’re with me again.”

She sniffled. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my dear. With all my heart. Now until the end of time.”

He had been worried before, but her attempt at suicide was really a blessing in disguise.

They could keep trying, and he could “put her together again” as many times as he pleased to get the results he wanted. If she remembered something she wasn’t supposed to know, he would put her back together again.

That didn’t sound too bad at all. Things were finally going his way.

The perfect wife, just for him. She would never leave him. Her love for him would never waver again.

He had her just where he wanted her.

. . .

“There you are, Fazbear. Good as new!” Scott tapped the robot bear’s arm, who in response merely nodded his head, slowly. “We’ll be opening up soon. Sorry we have to use you like this.”

The animatronics looked solemn. Entertaining children wasn’t exactly at the top of their priorities, especially being children themselves. But Scott knew they were also upset about Gemma. They were worried they would never see her again. Worried they would never see freedom.

The police never did find her. Or William, for that matter. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth, but Henry, Michael, and Scott believed—knew—they were out there somewhere, even if a small part of him didn’t believe it anymore.

“This is my last night on night shift. Henry is having me record a bunch of messages for the new guy who’s coming in tomorrow. Be nice to the new guard, alright?” It was better said than done. To this day, Scott wasn’t sure what set them off. They would find out, one of these days. “I’ll be in the office for the rest of the night. I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow.”

Gemma, she would have loved this place.

As Scott turned around, his toolbox in hand to head back to the office, he was called back by the sound of animatronic parts whirring and grinding together.

“ ** _Scott_.**”

It was Freddy—the first time he had actually spoken to him. It was Freddy’s voice, but Scott knew their AI wasn’t made to learn names. This time, he wasn’t scared. Not like all those times he heard the toys go against their programming.

“Yeah, kid?”

“ ** _Gemma is alive. Colorado mountains. That’s… where he is keeping her._** ”

The mountains of Colorado… of course. It made sense. It was close, and easy to find a secluded place. That was likely why William took her there. To keep her hidden. To keep himself hidden.

It was the first time Scott has felt truly hopeful in a long time.

“Can you tell me **anything** else?”

Freddy shook his head, and Scott sighed.

“ ** _Apologies_**.”

“That’s alright. Hopefully, we’ll find her and bring her back soon. We’ll find him too, and this will all be over with.”

He didn’t care how long it would take.

. . .

~????????~

“Gemma, Love, I’m home!” William undid his tie with one arm as he came through the door, and kicked off his shoes at the door when Gemma appeared from around the corner. She smiled ear-to-ear, a smile he thought he would never get to see on her when she looked at him.

She loved him. She was happy with him.

“Welcome home,” she greeted him with open arms and he snaked an arm around the curve of her waist. “I missed you. It’s quiet here without you around.”

“Sorry, Love. I’ll take you out to dinner in town this weekend, to make up for it.”

“Hmm, that sounds nice.” Her arms hung around his neck. His hands fell to her hips as she swayed her hips side to side. “Where to?”

“I’m thinking that nice Italian place you really like.”

She pouted. “But that’s so expensive—” William quieted her, capturing her lips in a fiery kiss that left her head spinning.

“’s quite alright, Love. I get paid this weekend.”

“Well, alright. If you say so, I won’t complain.”

“I do say so.” William grinned, snatching her hips and pulling her in close. “And now, I say how about we go make some noise in the bedroom, Mrs. Afton?”

Her face flushed, the heat rising from her chest to the tips of her ears. “Apologies, Mr. Afton, I’m making dinner and I don’t want to burn it.”

“Mrs. Afton, with all due respect, I think that dinner can wait.”

“Mr—hey! William!”

William hoisted her up over his shoulder, leaving her squealing and giggling in surprise.

This was the life he wanted. The life he never got to have.

It was all slow at first, but over time, William knew in his heart he was genuinely beginning to fall in love with her.

Before, he only wanted her because she was easily manipulated and docile. She was easy pickings for him to have a family with—to continue his legacy with.

Before, he had thought that the only thing that made him feel something—something more than apathy—was the pain of others. He used to enjoy hurting her. He used to enjoy seeing the fear in her eyes whenever she looked his way.

But now? He couldn’t imagine anything better than this.

He loved her wit. He loved her kindness. He loved the way her fingers caressed his face when they kissed, and he loved the way her nails scratched at his back and the sound of her beautiful moans when he made love to her.

He never had this kind of relationship with his late wife.

William originally wanted Gemma’s entire world to revolve around him, and only him. But quickly, he came to find that his world revolved around her, too.

Perhaps he really was just a broken man. A broken man who needed a little more love and guidance.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew this was coming eventually right?  
> BUT IT'S STILL NOT OVER  
> I really needed to get this chapter done bc it was literally eating me alive 
> 
> Comments are appreciated! :')  
> If I made errors please let me know!
> 
> TW: murder? Death

He couldn’t look for her anymore.

Giving up was the last thing he wanted to do, but… even Henry seemed skeptical these days.

He loved Gemma and he always would, but after so long, he was starting to think that maybe it was time to accept the fact that she would never come back. That they really would never find her.

The kids never found anything new, either.

He always pushed them to try and contact her. But they couldn’t know what she didn’t know. William was hiding so much from her.

All they knew was that she was alive and well, and that she was… happy. They didn’t understand why but… she was truly happy with him.

Trying to bring her home would just cause more trauma.

He supposed, as long as she was happy, that’s all he could have asked for.

Next week, he and Henry would be moving the animatronics to a storage unit for safekeeping.

He really wished he could have done more for them, but they didn’t have the budget to keep the place up and running.

As Scott got into his car, Kujo—Gemma’s dog—whined from the backseat. He had gotten older—visibly older—with white streaking his snout. He would be ten years old now.

“Hey there, old guy.” Kujo didn’t have much life left in him. If Gemma did ever return, he hoped that Kujo lived long enough to see her again. “Ready to go home?”

~??????~

Nightmares.

They started off slowly. But as time passed, they got worse. They got more frequent.

Eventually, they happened every night.

Where did these dreams come from? Was it anxiety? Paranoia?

What did she have to be so anxious about? So anxious that she would dream of her husband killing their child every night?

Their child—their daughter. Little Emilia.

William was so happy to find out about their little girl. He even had a beautiful name picked out, as if he had it picked out for a long time. It wasn’t surprising—Gemma knew he wanted a girl.

The animatronics. The Spring Bonnie suit. They terrified her.

She loved William. He terrified her.

She couldn’t get sleep at night anymore. Too many times had she seen William’s hands covered in blood—their daughter’s blood. The hands that she loved so much she could no longer feel or hold the same way.

She couldn’t tell him about what was going on. She didn’t want him to worry. But this time, she wouldn’t stoop so low as to attempt to kill herself. Not again.

She was stronger than that.

She could overcome it.

The was no need for her to worry. William was a wonderful man. A wonderful husband, and he would be a wonderful father, as well. She had no reason to doubt him.

Gemma was in a constant state of silent lethargy these days. It was heavy, exhausting, but she still made sure to get everything done almost every day. Making sure food was on the table by the time William got up in the morning and by the time he got home at night. Making sure the house was clean and the garden was tended to. Making sure laundry was done, ironed, and folded.

William would come home. They would have dinner together. Sometimes, he would dress her up and take her to town, and sometimes they would simply enjoy each other’s company, sitting at the kitchen table together.

And then on the weekends, they would relax together. They would stay in bed together or cuddle on the living room couch and watch TV together.

It got lonely most days, but she couldn’t ask for anything more.

Nothing got better.

I was optimistic for the life I managed to put together, but it seemed my past was catching up with me again.

They were in my head. All the time.

They whispered to me. The gave me nightmares. At first, it wasn’t anything new. Years ago, they had tried to scare me by showing me what I had done to them, as if I would suddenly care.

They gave up, eventually. But now they had something to use against me. My soon-to-be daughter.

In my dreams, she looked just like her mother. Her mother’s eyes, her mother’s face, but she had my hair—long, straight dark hair.

She was beautiful, just like her mother.

And I killed her. Almost every night. Every night I would see her blood coating my hands.

Even then, I never felt remorse for the horrible things I did. They were horrible yes, but I didn’t regret it. The only thing I regretted was what followed—being haunted by those I had killed.

_You will repent._

_You will suffer as we have suffered._

“Dammit, leave me alone!” I swiped my arm across my desk; papers, vials, blueprints—they all fell to the ground. Glass shattered at my feet, and the voices finally stopped.

This was the end for the old me. I would fix things. Eventually, everything would go away.

I would destroy everything. My research, the animatronics. I would destroy it all, starting here.

. . .

_“No, stay away from her-!”_

_Spring locks snapped together and he choked, gurgling on his own blood as he bled out from the inside. And the way his eyes looked of her—it spoke of betrayal._

It was late in the morning when Gemma opened her eyes again. It was a weekend—a Saturday, if she recalled correctly, and William’s day off.

That dream was still heavy on her mind. Another nightmare, though thankfully not as bad as the ones she’s had the last few months.

Her head throbbed as she sat up in her and William’s shared bed; she winced and held her head.

It was the smell of smoke. It captured her lungs and stole her breath away. William knew she didn’t like the smell of smoke, nor did she like him smoking in the house, but when she looked over he sat on the edge of their shared bed looking a right mess with a cigarette between his fingers, and his eyes looked almost haunted.

The bedroom was a mess as well, as if the place had been ransacked, with every drawer strewn about and emptied.

“Morning, Love.”

“Uh… Good morning. William, are you alright?”

William didn’t look at her as he took a drawl of his cigarette. He hadn’t smoked for a long time. He must have been pretty stressed to pick up another pack.

“I burned it down last night.”

“Burned… what down?

“My shop. It’s gone now. I’ve decided I’m not involving myself in robotics anymore.”

Slowly, she sat up. William stretched out his hunched-over back, popping his shoulders and his back. “William… why would you—?”

“Because we’re moving away. We’re starting over. I’ve already packed our things.”

This was sudden. This—something was wrong.

She didn’t want to move away from here. She loved it here, even if it did get lonely sometimes.

“We’re leaving this place. We’re going back to Hurricane. I just have a few things to take care of.” He stood up from the bed and dropped his cigarette butt onto the floor—the carpet floor—and stomped out the ashes with his bare foot. “And then, we’re moving away from here, and moving away from Hurricane, as far away as possible. I’m putting an end to this.”

“William… what’s going on?”

He walked around the edge of the bed to stand beside her. His hands trembled as he reached out, cupping her face in his hands, and his thumbs stroked her cheeks.

Hands soaked in blood.

“Don’t worry yourself over it, Love. Just let me take care of it. Get ready. We’ve got a long drive.”

William was on edge.

He’d spent hours sitting at his computer in his office before he finally decided to leave. He said he was confirming something, that it was just taking longer than expected.

He hadn’t said a word to her in hours. How long had he been driving? She wasn’t paying attention.

His hands gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and his jaw clenched so tight she could almost hear his teeth grinding together from the passenger seat. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days—weeks, even. He looked like he did the first time they met, with deep bags under his eyes and fine lines, paler skin. Although, most of that she supposed would have been due to age. He was getting up there in age.

“William,” she spoke his name quietly. “What’s going on with you?”

At the sound of her voice, William’s shoulders tensed. “It’s nothing, Love. I told you not to worry yourself over it.”

“But—”

“Be quiet.”

“You’re not acting like yourself—”

“I said be quiet!” His voice boomed; it shook her. Rattled her bones and Gemma clamped her mouth shut, and she could feel her eyes burn. Her stomach twisted in knots.

It was the first time William ever raised his voice at her.

“I’m sorry.”

William was quiet. He sighed and combed his fingers through his thinning hair. “No… no, it’s alright. I’m sorry.”

They were just hitting a rough time. Things weren’t going well, but it would get better. He would get better. She knew it would.

“William, what are we doing here?”

She knew they would be returning to Hurricane, but to say she was surprised when he pulled into Freddy’s was an understatement.

It wasn’t the same one she remembered, though. What happened to the last one? The one she and William worked at?

She recognized the building for the most part. It was the old building where Fredbear’s was located before it was closed, rebranded as Freddy’s, and moved elsewhere.

It was closed—permanently. The doors and windows appeared to be boarded up, so what were they doing here?

William didn’t respond. He reached into the back of his car and grabbed a crowbar from the backseat.

“You’re going to break in? For what?”

“Yes, and **you** are going to stay here. Is that clear?”

“William, you could get in trouble—”

“It will be fine. Just—do as I tell you and stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

And then he was gone. He slammed the door shut behind him hard enough it shook the car. Didn’t even say “I love you” or give her a kiss before he left.

She didn’t have a good feeling about this, but she trusted him. For now, she would do as he asked her.

Time went by. Thirty minutes turned into an hour. An hour turned into two.

It was getting later, and it was getting cold.

William still hadn’t come out.

That feeling—that feeling of worry and anxiety washed over her again. It made her dizzy, made her nauseous.

It… it wouldn’t hurt just to go in and check up on him, right?

Yeah, that’s what she needed to do. She just needed to make sure he was alright.

Getting up on her own wasn’t the easiest. Gemma opened the passenger door and breathed a sigh as she climbed out of the car. Her hand clasped her rounded stomach. “We’re gonna go check up on Daddy, alright?” She knew Emilia couldn’t hear her yet, but… it was nice to pretend. To pretend she had someone to talk to when she was alone.

The glass doors were shattered. The only way for William to get inside.

Gemma passed through the broken glass doors, and it was as if she stepped back into the past. As if she had entered another world.

The stale smell of pizza lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of mold. It couldn’t have been closed for that long, given the smells were still there.

Whispers filled her mind, almost like echoes of the past. She could almost hear the songs of the animatronics on stage, the cheers of children—

The screams.

_Remember us._

_Save them._

_Lies._

The main party room was empty.

_Remember us._

_Save them._

_Save them._

_Remember us._

The voices got louder—whispers, echoes. Sometimes a cold breeze would go by, and it felt… familiar.

_He lied to you._

_He’s a monster._

_He made you forget._

_Remember us._

_“How long have you been working here? Do you enjoy it?”_

_“A little under a year, I think. It gets a bit uncomfortable. Sometimes the animatronics like to stare.”_

_“Oh, uncomfortable. Got it. I’m already a pro at that.”_

_“Y’know, you could get in serious trouble for messing with the animatronics if they find out.”_

_“If it helps you with whatever is going on in your head, I’m fine with that. The worst they can do is fire me.”_

_“I’m not delusional, Scott—I know the things I saw, and the things I heard.”_

Scott. She remembered that name.

_“The question is, “what are we going to do?” You will not bear this burden alone. I will make sure of it.”_

_“It is a big deal, and you’re not fine, Gemma, look at you! This isn’t okay. Nothing about this is “fine”, you have to know that. And it’s not a one-time thing, either. If it were, he would have chosen someone who didn’t know him. He knows you’re going to be quiet.”_

And Henry. Charlie

_“This time, we will protect you, too.”_

He killed them.

She remembered.

That was why he wanted to come back. His past was catching up to him.

The animatronics lied in a mass of parts on the floor. She remembered them—how they wanted to be put to rest. They were in so much pain.

No… no, he would never do those things. He wasn’t a killer. He was her husband. The father of her child. Their daughter.

_Lies._

She could hear laughter from behind the door. William’s laughter. Like the laughter she often heard in her sleep, in her dreams.

“You can’t hurt me now, can you?”

Taunting them. Taunting her.

Gemma swallowed thickly as she stepped over the animatronics. Her hands pressed against the metal door. Slowly, it opened. It was like stepping through a portal into another dimension.

They were all there. The children—all five of them. Gabriel, Susie, Fritz, Jeremy… and Charlie. And before them, stood a dirtied, golden bunny suit. Spring Bonnie, the one she’s seen in her dreams. The same one William murdered them with.

His eyes landed on her as soon as she stepped through the door. She couldn’t see his face behind the mask, but from the way his eyes narrowed, she could tell he was angry. Angry at her for disobeying him.

“Gemma, Love, I told you to stay in the car.”

Charlie reached to take Gemma’s hand—

“Don’t—“William warned, “don’t you touch her. Come, get away from them.” He held out a big, yellow paw and she stepped forward. His paw landed on the small of her back and William pulled her back behind him, as if he were the one protecting her. “Good girl.”

_Trust me._

He couldn’t get out of this one. He was surrounded.

“This suit,” He spoke to her, “It gives me strength. Confidence. Strange, isn’t it? Almost like it were made for me.”

_Destroy him._

_Save them._

The crowbar. Lying on the floor at her feet, left forgotten.

_End this._

With his back still turned to her, she bent down to take the crowbar in her hands. It was cold—freezing cold, but she gripped it tight in her hands.

This wasn’t her. Rather, it felt as if someone were controlling her.

He deserved this. Everything he’s done. To the kids. To Charlie. To Henry.

To Scott… and to her.

He deserved this.

And she was here to serve them vengeance.

“They can’t hurt me when I’m in this suit. After all—"

When he turned to look her in the eyes, she shoved the crowbar into the neck of the suit. His eyes wide with shock—betrayal—he shoved her back.

The spring locks snapped into place.

Her back hit the wall and Gemma crumpled down onto the floor; she could only listen as William fell to the floor, unable to speak, unable to scream from the pain, his vocal cords severed and choking on his own blood.

_How could you._

Charlie came forward, her cold hands cupping Gemma’s face tenderly, almost as a mother would her own child. “It’s over, Gemma. Thank you. You can rest, now.”

Gemma closed her eyes. For the first time in years, she finally knew peace.

_“And I’ll always be with you.”_

_“Ge…m…a… hel…p… m…e…”_

. . .

When Henry and Scott arrived the next morning, they were in shock, to say the least.

The restaurant had been broken into, but not only that…

William’s car, of which they both recognized, sat unattended in the front parking lot. The glass doors were broken, shattered, and the boards had been taken down.

William was there. He had to be.

Scott didn’t even bother with the doors. Glass crunched under his feet, and the old, stale smell of pizza hit his nose. Adrenaline rushed in body, pumping through his veins—electrifying.

Gemma was here. He could feel it.

“Scott, now hold on a second!” Henry called after him, tried to warn him. It could be dangerous—William could be waiting inside, waiting to kill them any second.

But all Scott cared about was finding Gemma.

The animatronics were taken apart in front of the safe room. The door was closed, and blood pooled out from under. It had dried long ago, telling him that whatever—or whoever—died here had died at the very least several hours ago.

And when he opened the door, his breath was taken away.

“Gemma!” Scott rushed to her side—she was breathing, but unresponsive. Blood covered her body, having been lying in it for a while. He ignored the bleeding out spring suit behind him—he already knew.

She was here. That was all he cared about.

She was alive. She was still with him.

Although, he had to wonder what happened to the first baby. There wasn’t anything in the car, not from what Scott could see. Unless—

“Seems your deeds have finally caught up to you, haven’t they, old friend?” Henry kicked the side of the spring lock suit. The metal resounded against his shoe, and he could have sworn he saw the fingers twitch. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah. She’s breathing,” Scott said, “Just unresponsive. And…” Scott laid a hand across her stomach. “She has a baby. She has to be at least close to eight months.”

“Let’s get her home, then, to my house. We’ll take care of her there.”

“What about the hospital?”

“That comes after. We don’t want them asking too many. What happened here… is between us. We never mention this to anyone else. We’ll talk about what to tell them when we get there,”

“Alright—oh shit she’s heavy!” Scott groaned, lifting Gemma’s body into his arms. She looked even more beautiful than the last time he saw her. More matured. She was older now—and adult.

She would be twenty-four now.

“Whaddya expect?” Henry laughed. “She’s got a baby. Of course she’d be heavy.”

Things would be different now. After six years, things were finally falling back into place. And when they got back, when she woke up, he would be there for her for as long as she needed him.

He loved her more than anything else.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of rape   
> otherwise this chapter is just really cute
> 
> Comments are appreciated! :')  
> If I've made typos or other errors please let me know!

~June 15, 1993~

“—and in recent news, local teen Gemma Davis, who disappeared six years ago, has finally been found alive Sunday morning. She was previously pronounced dead when the authorities—”

“Ohhhkay, I think that’s enough of that for now.”

Six years… she had been gone for six years. It was almost hard for Gemma to believe, but when she thought back on it, it made sense. Why William never wanted a calendar in the house, only a clock. She never knew the exact date.

Everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around the subject. Even Scott. As if any second, any mention of what happened would send her into a blind panic.

Instead, she just felt… empty. Apathetic.

“How are you feeling, Gemma? Need anything?” Sarah turned to face her; she looked different from the last time Gemma saw her, but she supposed age does that to people. Sarah was always thin, but she had put on a little bit of weight, filling out her features more.

“I’m fine.” Gemma twisted the ring on her finger. The ring—the wedding band William gave her all those years ago. Had it really been that long?

“That’s a pretty ring,” Sarah said, “did… he get it for you?”

Gemma nodded.

“At least he had good taste. Do you miss him?”

After all the things he’s done? She shouldn’t, and yet… she missed him terribly. “Yeah.”

“Well… y’know, Scott loves you… a lot.”

Did she love Scott?

She remembered… once thinking she loved Scott. Back then, she was a girl. A girl with no knowledge on what love was supposed to be.

But then William came in. He taught her what love was really supposed to be. He was older. Wiser. He knew better.

So, who was right? If she were still eighteen, she would say she loved Scott. She felt the same way for him as she did all those years ago, but… was that love?

“I know…”

She ended William’s life. That was the right thing to do. The only way for him to atone for what he’s done. No amount of love and guidance could save him.

But still, she felt… guilty.

At least her baby girl was safe… little Emilia.

“What are you going to name your little girl?”

“…Emilia.”

Sarah smiled. “That’s a pretty name.”

“William picked it out.”

Her smile fell. “Oh.”

“Hey, girls.” Scott tapped on the door as he came in. Gemma didn’t look his way, too preoccupied with the ring on her finger.

“Alright, well, I better get going then. Marcus and I have our own parent business to take care of. I’ll see you, Gemma.”

Sarah hesitated, awaiting some kind of response, but Gemma didn’t so much as waver. She sighed, casting Scott a sorry glance as she pushed by him through the open doorway.

Scott closed the door and sat on the hospital bed with a bundle of daisies in one hand. Her favorite flower.

Not even William knew. Not even after six years.

“So, uh… I got you a little something.” He handed the bouquet to Gemma, who took it carefully—hesitantly.

“I can’t believe you actually remembered. And after six years.”

“I never forgot anything about you.”

Gemma couldn’t help but to smile, even when Scott cupped her cheek in his hand. He touched her tenderly, as if she would break if he put the slightest amount of pressure.

“My offer still stands.”

“What offer?”

“That I wanted to be with you. I want to see you achieve your dreams.”

Her dreams… she didn’t even know what those were anymore.

Her smile fell. “I don’t… remember them.”

“Oh, but I do. Remember that day—you were recovering from a concussion. We were supposed to go on a date that day so instead of taking you out, I bought groceries and brought it to you. We cooked lemon garlic shrimp—”

“Tried. We burned it.”

“Yup.” Scott chuckled. “We sure did. That day, you told me your plans for the future. That you wanted to help kids like you. Kids in bad situations.”

That’s right… but now she wasn’t so sure. She still wanted to save kids but now, she had something else on her mind.

“Actually… I’ve been thinking about doing something else.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve been thinking… about being a police officer.”

Scott grinned. “Oh yeah? That’s a nice occupation too. You still want to help people?”

Gemma nodded. “I just… don’t know which one would be the best… I don’t just want to help kids anymore. I want to help people. I want to help people escape bad situations even if no one else believes them.”

“That’s a great dream there, Gemma.”

“Hey, Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you… for not giving up on me.” She took the ring between her fingers and slowly, it came off her ring finger. There was a noticeable mark left behind on her finger, from where it had been sitting for years—years without being removed.

In a way, she still loved William. But she had to remind herself of all the terrible things he’s done, and the terrible things he’s done to her. Raped her, kidnapped her. Her manipulated her. He lied to her, until she didn’t even know herself anymore. Until she didn’t know her memories anymore.

Until he had her just how he wanted her.

By missing him… by continuing to love him, she was just falling right back into his traps.

But she didn’t want to forget him, not anymore. Not like she used to. No, she wanted desperately to remember him. To remind herself of what he’s done. She wanted to remember it, as a lesson for her.

She would keep the ring. On a necklace, maybe? Even if it came from William, there was no point in getting rid of it.

She wanted to keep it. It was a symbol of her capture. Her loyalty to him. But she would change that. It would become a symbol of her freedom.

“Of course,” Scott replied, “I would never give up on you. Not in a million years.”

She didn’t hesitate to say it. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And your little girl— **my** little girl. What are we gonna name her?”

“E—” No, Emilia simply didn’t feel right. She had to toss the name, if nothing else. William picked that name, after all. She wasn’t William’s child. No, she was Scott’s.

She didn’t know.

“I’m… not sure. Her name was going to be Emilia, but…”

“William wanted that name.”

She nodded.

“We’ll come up with something. Don’t worry.”

“Scott?”

“Hm?”

“Can…” This was hard to ask. It felt almost like a proposal. “Whatever we name her… can she have your last name?”

“Oh, and not Henry’s?”

“Scott,” Gemma said firmly, and Scott laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“I don’t see why not. I **will** be on the birth certificate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then of course. You didn’t even have to ask. And then maybe someday, you’ll take my last name too.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. “I’d like that.”

. . .

_“Gemma…”_

_It was late. Gemma was stirred awake by the soft sound of her voice._

_“Gemma, we need your help.”_

_Gemma sat up to see the kids standing at the foot of her hospital bed—the four of them. Scott, sleeping beside her, wasn’t disturbed by her. He had always been a bit of a heavy sleeper._

_She had to rub the sleep from her eyes to see them properly. They looked somber—not happy to be there. “What’s going on?” Shouldn’t they have moved on by now? William was dead._

_They were silent, looking between each other with equal confusion. “We… don’t know, either,” Gabriel spoke, “We’re still trapped here.”_

_“We’re never gonna be freed, are we?” Susie asked; she hung her head low. “We thought… we thought killing him was the answer.”_

_Gemma bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, there has to be another answer.”_

_Jeremy pulled Susie into a side hug as she sniffled and silently cried. There had to be something Gemma could do._

_“I’ll think of something.”_

_Gabriel smiled, albeit small, but he was grateful, she knew._

_“Thank you, Gemma.”_

_Yes, it seemed she still had more work to do._

. . .

“So, what’s the first thing you want to do when you get out of here?”

Gemma had to think about that one. There was so much she wanted to do and so much she missed out on.

“I don’t know.” She thought her time would be spent trying to figure out how to help the kids again. Now that William wasn’t around, it certainly would be a lot easier. “I think I kinda just want to relax a while. With you.”

Scott smiled. “And Kujo.”

Gemma giggled. “And Kujo, too.” She missed Kujo, especially his kisses. She would never forget the day he nearly tore William’s leg apart—they day she really knew he was bad news. They say always trust a dog’s instincts. He would be old now, but he was still her puppy. “And the baby. Can’t forget about the baby.”

“Speaking of the baby… think of any names yet?”

“No, not yet?”

“Hm… Jessica?”

“No.”

“Ashley.”

“No.”

“Melissa.”

“Not that one, either.”

“Hm… Tiamat?”

“Ew, definitely not. I’m not naming our daughter after one of your silly fantast characters.”

“I’ll have you know Tiamat is not just a silly fantasy character, she is a 5-headed dragon goddess!”

“Even worse.”

Another knock on the door revealed Henry. He cut down his beard since the last time she saw him, and his eyes smiled at her as he came through the door. In his hand, was a little Fredbear plush. “Hey there, kid.”

“Hey, Henry.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all. We were just discussing names for the baby, actually. Tiamat seems like a pretty big contender over here.”

“Ugh, Scott!”

Henry chuckled. “Well… Gemma, I want you to have this.” As Henry handed over the plushy, she laid the bundle of flowers by her side. The Fredbear plush was old, she knew, but kept together well—obviously cared for. “It was Charlie’s. I think she’d want you to have it. Maybe your little girl can have it when she’s born.”

That’s it.

Gemma looked down at the Fredbear plush. The perfect name for her daughter.

“I know what I want to name her.” She could feel the tears coming on, shaking her breath, and tightening her chest.

“I want to name her Charlie.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are appreciated! :')  
> If i've made typos or other errors please let me know  
> slight tw: sexual assault?

Gemma tried not to think on that dream too much. She felt bad for the kids but… she had other things to worry about. She could always get to them later, and she didn’t want to further stress Scott or Henry during this time.

It was easy enough to take her mind off of, though. Scott was there for her, like always, although he did baby her a bit too much. Sarah and Marcus even stopped by to show off their baby—a baby girl, Vanessa. She wasn’t much older than Charlie would be when she arrived—older by only a few months.

It had Gemma buzzing with excitement. Charlie would be coming into the world so soon, and yet it felt so far away. Gemma wanted to hold her baby already, and she was sure Scott felt the same way.

Would Charlie and Vanessa be good friends?

The only person who hadn’t visited her yet was Nathan and honestly, she was fine with that. Nathan was still busy with the animatronic he and Scott were working on. It was taking quite a while to perfect, and something told her they would be working on it for a while.

Everything seemed well in the world.

Granted, she still felt… off. She felt a little more depressed than she used to, but slowly, she was getting better. She was smiling and laughing more, and she had no doubt Scott certainly helped.

It was mid-afternoon when Henry came around carrying a notebook—Michael’s notebook. It was old and tattered in his hands, clearly put to good use and ready many, many times over. Sticky notes stuck out from the pages—parts he found useful, and he clasped the notebook in front of his chest, almost like a shield.

His eyes were worn and tired. It was clear he hadn’t slept well, and he was weary.

“Henry?” Gemma spoke, “are you okay?”

He breathed a sigh. “We have to do something about William,” he uttered, “I worry someday he will come back.”

The room fell silent. The last thing Gemma wanted to hear.

“How do we find out?” Scott asked. Henry shook his head.

“That’s just it. We don’t know. I’ve read the notes, the blueprints over and over again but nothing sticks out. I can only make inferences based off of what William and Michael wrote but… even Michael doesn’t fully understand.”

The only one who ever did is William.

And he was dead.

“I remember talking about remnant before,” Scott added, “Doesn’t that have something to do with it?”

“Yes. it starts in the form of a liquid but can become inert—unmoving. It can be extracted and injected into a host. When extracted it has to be kept as a sustained temperature, as overheating may or may not neutralize the effects. The question remains, how does remnant stay in a liquid form? How can it be extracted, and does William have it? There’s no way for us to find out, at least as far as I know. I’m not even sure what this remnant stuff looks like. No way to find it.”

Was that how the kids were stuck here?

If overheating neutralized the effects… the answer on how to free them seemed quite simple.

That was why William burned that place down. It all made sense.

“Maybe we should take the safe route,” Gemma suggested, “Gather him and the other animatronics in one place. We can get rid of William and free the kids all at once.”

“The kids?”

“You mean they aren’t free yet? Shouldn’t killing William have—”

“No… that’s what they thought, too but… they’re still stuck here.”

“Because of remnant.” Henry sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So whatever this remnant stuff is, then… it sticks.”

“And it has to be burned to be released.”

“Are we sure that will work?”

“Well, it’s worth a try. We have a lot of work to do, then. A lot of animatronics to gather.” Henry finally looked more sure of himself. They didn’t have all the answers, but… what they had was close enough.

“Is there a way I can help?” Gemma asked, and Henry shook his head.

“After what you’ve been through? I don’t want you dealing with him anymore. You have a baby to worry about, so let us take care of it. If he does come back, we don’t know what he could be capable of.”

The ring felt cold against her chest.

“How much longer?” She asked.

“I can’t be certain,” Henry replied, “A few years, maybe. The last of my money went to that last location. We opened it for a similar purpose—to lure in animatronics and destroy them. The only one that ended up destroyed was William. It will take a while before I have the funds to open another restaurant again…

And by that time,” He continued, “the new animatronic should be ready. It was built with Afton Robotics designs in mind. He built them to capture children, but mine—Ol Lefty is built to capture something else. And then Charlie can be free, too.”

Every day, they got closer and closer to the answer. The solution. Gemma couldn’t wait for the day William burned to the ground.

Gemma and Scott never did move out of Hurricane. With more work to do, they decided it would be best to settle there for the time being.

Ever since returning home, though, they had to get a bigger bed. Kujo, as old as he was, became clingy. He stuck to her side and went into bouts of anxiety when she wasn’t within his sight. She was sure her being gone for so long freaked him out, and then to suddenly come back pregnant? She had no doubt he was having some bad anxiety over it.

So, he slept next to her every night, curled up along the bump of her stomach.

Only a month from now. A month from now, Charlie would be born. A month from now, she would be holding little Charlie in her arms.

“What do you think she’s going to look like?” Scott asked one night—his arm draped over her stomach where he could feel Charlie’s little feet pressing up against the sides of Gemma’s stomach. “I think she’s going to look like her mommy. Beautiful, just like you,”

In the back of her mind, she knew Scott was right. She’s had many dreams of Charlie—where William killed her in cold blood. In those dreams, Charlie really did look just like Gemma, but she had very distinctive features of William’s too—his hair and his nose, specifically.

But what if Charlie really did come out looking just like her father? Could she look Charlie in the eyes every day?

“I don’t know,” Gemma answered honestly.

“I still think we should call her Tiamat.”

“God, Scott,” Gemma groaned. Scott laughed as Gemma playfully shoved his arm off of her. “You’re such a nerd—ah!”

Scott didn’t give her a chance to move away, pulling her in close and nuzzling his nose into the side of her neck. “But I’m your nerd.”

“That you are.”

“I love you, Gemma.”

Gemma smiled. “I love you.”

. . .

_Yellow daisies. Fields of them. Beautiful blankets of yellow. They stretched out to the horizons, lazily across the hills and dancing in the breeze of summer that felt so, so warm on her skin._

_If she didn’t know better, she might have thought she died and went to Heaven—if she even believed it existed in the first place. She long abandoned the idea of God, ever since she was a child._

_“A little birdie once told me you have a preference for daisies.”_

_The warm breeze suddenly felt frigid, as if someone had tossed of bucket of ice water over her head. When she turned around, she saw William—bright eyed and bushy tailed, as if she hadn’t spilled his blood with her own hands just days ago._

_He looked good, considering. A lot better than the last days she had known him: shirt and slacks pressed and neatly ironed, his once dull blue eyes held lights of life. And he had a smile—a genuine smile, the one she missed so much._

_“William—”_

_“So, you’re naming our daughter Charlie now, are you?”_

_She felt her body relax under his touch, when he caressed the underside of her jawline and he leaned in close, his other hand falling onto the curve of her waist, the ghost of a touch. “Yes.”_

_“I must say that I’m a little disappointed, Love. You know how I feel about that, don’t you?”_

_No, and she couldn’t let herself forget, either._

_“But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve betrayed me.” His hand cupped her cheek, and his smile fell into a deep frown. “Or the last?”_

_She couldn’t listen to this._

_She stepped away from him and she could feel her body closing in on itself. Falling into old habits. The same thing she used to do. “Charlie… The Emily’s were always important in my life—” He should have known that, right? Or did he not remember, either? “I’ve… told you about Henry before.”_

_“Henry isn’t an uncommon name. Was it wrong for me to assume you were speaking of someone else?”_

_“Regardless,” she continued, “Henry gave me Charlie’s old Fredbear plush to give to her and… I thought it fit. Scott didn’t want to go with Emilia either—”_

_“Scott, hm? So now you’re allowing him to pick the name of our daughter? **My** daughter?”_

_“She’s not your daughter—”_

_“Gemma.”_

_“Scott is her father. And he will be a much better father than you could dream to be.”_

_He was silent a moment—for that moment, she thought she won, that he would leave her alone for good._

_“Have you already forgotten, Love?” His voice held an edge of anger, but she wouldn’t waver._

_He couldn’t do anything to her here._

_“Forgotten what?”_

_“That I’m the only man for you, Love,” She felt his presence against her back and his breath on her ear. “You were made for me.”_

_The bright sky above her turned black. The daisies wilted and turned to dust, and when she looked back, William was gone—nothing but pitch-black darkness that seemed to stretch on for miles._

_“William?” His name came out in a pathetic whimper, and her arms wrapped tight around her waist in a protective hold._

_It was the kind of darkness she didn’t like—unable to see in front of her, and unable to see William._

_It was this kind of vulnerability she despised. The kind she was terrified of because he could do anything to her—_

_When she took a step back, her back collided with his chest and his arm quickly wound tight around her midsection, bracing her body against his._

_“Careful, Love,” he said, his voice deep and quiet against her ear. She could feel his breath, fanning across her face and making her spine shiver. “It’s quite dark in here. Wouldn’t want you to fall and injure that pretty head of yours again, would we?”_

_She agreed timidly with a slow shake of her head, but the only thing consuming her thoughts, was her begging to let her go._

_Why did this feel so familiar?_

_“But no need to worry. I’ve brought a flashlight with me.” She could feel him shuffling behind her, reaching for his belt in his hip and suddenly, the space in front of them illuminated, cutting through the darkness with a solid, white beam of bright light._

_For a fleeting moment, she felt relief. Relief because she could finally see. She could see William, and maybe he would finally let go of her. They could get to whatever it was he needed her for, and get out._

_“You know, I feel a little betrayed,” William spoke; he sounded hurt, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You went behind my back and let Scott deflower you, did you?”_

_“Th-that… that—” Gemma’s face turned hot, her voice meek and quiet—sheepish and almost afraid. “That’s none of your business. Can you just tell me what you need me here for?”_

_“I’m going to be honest with you, Love. I don’t appreciate you going behind my back after I warned you to stay clear.” The arm around her waist tightened. “Here, no one will bother us. Just a precaution, in case that boy comes searching for you.”_

_“W-William—?”_

_He used his hold on her waist to turn her around. “This time, I won’t be so gentle with you. Maybe once this is over, you’ll know your place.” Without missing a beat, he captured her lips in a stolen kiss._

_It happened so suddenly and so quickly, and she couldn’t keep up with him. The suddenness of the kiss pulled a surprised moan from the back of her throat, and her stomach twisted in utter disgust—just the taste of his mouth, the way he held her, made her want to vomit._

_She resisted, planting her hands firmly against his chest, pushing and fighting against him; his hand settled on her hip, tight with aggression while the hand holding the flashlight came down to rest against the small of her back, anchoring her body to his._

_It felt as if he were a cement wall. Persistent and unwavering._

_Tears stung her eyes and fell down her cheeks, and for a moment William relented in his kiss, his free hand coming up to cup her tear-stained cheek._

_“Don’t cry, Love,” he cooed, “You’re safer here by my side than you would be anywhere else.” His words were a promise—although to others, it may seem like a promise to protect her, in reality, it was a promise to hurt her. To ruin her. To break her and meld her, and to use her over and over again. “So be a good girl and give in to me.”_

_She felt like she couldn’t speak, her words forming a lump in her throat that just wouldn’t go away. It threatened to burst—an urge she forced herself to stuff down._

_Where had this happened before?_

_This time, she didn’t fight, even as William pushed her back against the cold, metal table; the flashlight he was holding laid against the surface by her head and left forgotten. She didn’t fight, even as he began to fumble clumsily with the belt on his uniform._

_That day—_

_The day he took any shred of confidence she had. Any shred of dignity left behind._

“Stop letting him control you.”

“You need to show him he’s messing with the wrong woman.”

_Gemma wasn’t the same girl she was back then._

_She **needed** to fight back. _

_Gemma reached for the flashlight by her head just as William reached under her dress._

_“That’s it. I’m the only one who can satisfy you—ah!” William cried out in pain as Gemma swung the butt of the flashlight down onto his skull. He staggered back and she followed after—her heart pounded against her chest and her hands trembled with rushes of adrenaline. She would finish this._

_And when he looked at her, he seethed. “You crazy bitch-!”_

_“It just occurred to me,” She spoke; her voice shook and her hands trembled from the adrenaline rush, she could hear the flashlight rattling in her hands.“I never did get **my** revenge for what you did to me.” _

_She swung the flashlight onto the side of his head and William went crashing onto the floor._

_“You have no power over me here,” She spoke. She climbed over him, straddling his waist. “And I am stronger than you.” She brought the flashlight up over her head—she could see the faintest glimpses of fear in William’s eyes, but then he grinned, teeth bloodied, and he chuckled._

_“How does it feel, Love? To know you’ve become just like me?”_

_“I’ll never be like you. You’re a monster. That’s all you will ever be.”_

_“I love you. And you still love me, don’t you?”_

_She was silent. The words “I love you” threatened to come out. She resisted it, stuffing it back down into the farthest corners of her heart._

_“Love, if I am a monster, then what are you? After all, you still love this monster.”_

_“Burn in Hell, you bastard.”_

_The flashlight crashed down, again—and again, and again. Blood splattered across her delicate, yellow dress and over the head of the flashlight; it gave the room a soft, but ominous red light as she sat across William's legs, barely recognizable. and half-dead on the floor._

_A cry shook her chest and the flashlight fell from her hands, rolling across the tile floor as she scurried off of William's body._

_She wasn’t afraid of him anymore._

_She felt alive._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it folks  
> it took me a bit to find out if this is where i wanted to end it or not. It's short, but it's finally over  
> AND Part 2 is out now!
> 
> as always, tw for mentions of rape/assault, per usual  
> comments are always appreciated and give me serotonin  
> and if you see any errors, let me know! :)

~June 20, 1993~

“Hey—hey, Babe, let me get that for you.”

“Scott, I’m not paraplegic. I can still help.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, but this box is too big and too heavy for baby. Plus, remember the last time you tried lifting a box? You got a bad concussion and were out of commission for a while.”

Gemma huffed. “So, what can I do?”

Scott lifted the box into his arms effortlessly—he actually had quite a bit of muscle in spite of his skinnier appearance, especially now that he was much older. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Or I’m telling on you to Henry and Nathan when we get there.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Scott grinned. “Bet I would.” He shifted on his feet; the box rattled—a mix of their different personal items over the years they lived there. “C’mon, let’s get to Henry’s place.”

Once they got there, it would be quite the full house. Henry, Nathan, Scott, her, Kujo, all under one roof. It was great for her and Scott that Henry offered up his place to them while they started out their new lives with a baby on their hands, especially since Gemma wanted the opportunity to focus on school once Charlie was born.

At least Henry was ready to move on to being “Grandpa Henry”.

Gemma stood in her bedroom—when they came back, it hardly resembled the once teenage-ish aesthetic she remembered leaving it with. Pinks, yellows and whites were replaced with darker, cool tones—blues, greys, greens. And now it was empty, the only things left behind being the mattress and the wooden bedframe build into the wall, and the bookshelf by the door.

“Kujo,” Gemma called, “Let’s go.”

When Gemma glanced back, Kujo perked his head up and came to her side. She grabbed the leash and collar she kept hung up by the door. “C’mon Jojo, let’s go.”

Gemma closed the door to the house behind her. The last time she would be stepping foot inside. As she settled into the passenger side of the car, she laid her hand against her bulging stomach.

Soon, little Charlie would be on her way—a baby.

Scott climbed into the car beside her, but she kept her attention to her stomach, watching it move with every kick and push. It was odd, like a little alien was growing inside of her.

“You ready to go, Gamma Ray?”

Gemma giggled. “Please never call me that.”

“What? Gamma Ray? C’mon, you love it.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes you do, I can see the big ass smile on your face!”

“Because you’re such a nerd.”

“Hey, maybe if you would play a little D&D, watch some anime and Star Wars with me, you’d be a nerd, too.”

“Someday.”

“Well now you’ve got my hopes up. I already know what anime I’m showing you first. I’ll turn you into a nerd and I don’t even need a week. We’ll be the greatest nerd couple in existence.”

“Alright, Scott.”

This is what felt right. It felt right being here with Scott—sitting next to him, smiling and joking with each other. She wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Although, she almost wished she could go back and undo everything William did to her. She had to wonder how Scott really felt, about fathering a child that wasn’t biologically his—fathering a child of the man who raped her and abused her.

A child of the man who hurt so many people.

Yet, she wouldn’t trade her baby for anything.

The ring felt oddly warm against her chest.

It was the golden hour. Harsh, yellow light shined through the living room windows, creating a dappled look across the dark, wooden floor and across Gemma’s stomach. The boy’s finished setting up her and Scott’s bedroom not long ago, and had migrated over to the garage to work on… other things.

A brand new animatronic, based off of William’s old designs.

Gemma leaned back in the leather recliner.

Normally, with Kujo around, she wouldn’t feel so alone. But it was deafeningly quiet, save for the sounds of Kujo’s snoring.

And Gemma had made the unfortunate mistake of forgetting to grab the TV remote before she sat down.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Gemma looked to her side; Nathan sat on the edge of the coffee table next to her, wiping the sweat off his brow with a spare rag he kept in his pocket.

“Yeah, I’m alright. A bit tired. This baby is taking all the energy out of me. What about you?”

“I’m alright, just… taking a bit of a break.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a deep sigh.

“You’re not doing a very good job at hiding that you’re upset.”

Nathan chuckled. “No, I guess not…” He leaned back. “It’s Lefty. The damn thing malfunctioned… again. Feels like it’s gonna take forever to get it working right at this rate.”

“Are William’s blueprints hard to read?”

“No, not at all. Maybe if they were cryptic, but they’re hardly even vague. Everything is clearly outlined, it’s just… William was a genius. His animatronics were ahead of their time. Dad helped William build them, so he has a clearer idea than me or Scott do, but… Without William’s help, we’re kind of stuck in a loop.”

“Is there… a way to study them?”

“No. No one is going down there after what they did to Michael.”

“Shit, that’s right…”

“We’ll get it figured out eventually… it’s just taking longer than we thought it would. But we’ll get it.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you kidding? Dad and Scott would have my head. Just take it easy. Charlie número dos just needs you to keep her happy and healthy right now.”

“But I feel useless just sitting around.”

“Well, think about it this way.” Nathan stood, wiping his sweaty against across his jeans. “You’re keeping Charlie healthy… and you’re keeping Kujo happy, too.”

Kujo’s ears perked up at the sound of his name.

“I guess.”

“I’m gonna get back to the garage—”

“You practically sleep in there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know… why don’t you get some rest? You’re looking pretty ugly.”

Gemma smiled. If she hadn’t been friends with Nate for years, she wouldn’t have known he spoke with endearment rather than malice. “If I could reach the remote right now, I’d throw it at you, you ass.”

“Ah, you know I’m just fucking with you. You always look beautiful, my fair lady. In fact, you are absolutely glowing.”

“Ugh, such a try hard.”

Nathan laughed. “Love you!”

“Love you too, but fuck you.”

Gemma laid her hands across her stomach.

All the things that happened for her to get to this point. It didn’t feel like it was six years she spent with William. It was monotonous. Boring, lonely, so maybe that was just a result of days blurring together.

Then again, knowing William somehow managed to brainwash her and mess with her memories, she couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, she was grateful to be back where she was, even if it did take six years to get back here.

With a sigh, Gemma laid her head back against the recliner and closed her eyes.

A quick nap didn’t sound too bad.


End file.
